


A Hero’s Path (Ilyana Surana Post Blight)

by RedPandaDragon



Series: Ilyana Surana [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Circle Tower, Elves, Grey Wardens, Mage, Taint - Freeform, The Calling, The Cure, The Taint, weisshaupt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-04-07 13:29:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 61,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14081976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedPandaDragon/pseuds/RedPandaDragon
Summary: Having killed the Archdemon and installed her fellow warden, Alistair, on the thone, Ilyana Surana copes with reality six years after the blight of never regaining her place in Alistair's life and moving on to new endeavours.





	1. Goodbye Ferelden

**Author's Note:**

> A special thank you to Zinjadu for her incredible efforts as my beta and editor. This series wouldn’t have happened without her!

The letter lay open on Commander Ilyana Surana’s mahogany desk in her office in the newly reconstructed Fort Drakon. She had read it at least five times. Each time she reread the letter, the realization of her true obligations and place in the world became clear.  
  
She withdrew a quill and opened her desk ink pot and began to pen her response on a fresh sheet of parchment. After she had finished all but her signature, the dark and gallant Captain Harion knocked on her office’s open oak door before he stepped inside.

  
Captain Harion was a few years Ilyana’s junior, always looked at her with large brown puppy dog eyes. His first encounter with her was when, as a young recruit, she charged through the very fort they were standing in, heroically slaying darkspawn, and ultimately, the Archdemon. The tiny elven Mage with long black hair, wielding a sword and a shield left a strong first impression.  
  
“Commander, his Majesty, King Alistair has requested an audience with you- again.” Captain Harion said casually leaning against the open door. He held a red and yellow striped apple in his hand and took a loud crisp bite from it.

  
Ilyana let out an exaggerated sigh. She nodded and placed the lid back on her inkwell and laid her quill down into the desk. With resignation, she stood and grabbed her cloak off the wall hook and fastened it around her chest plate.  
  
Ilyana was reminded of the time when wearing anything other than the hideous circle robes felt foreign and uncomfortable. Now, six years after the Fifth Blight serving as the Commander of Fereldan’s armies to King Alistair, being out of armor is what felt foreign.  
  
“Thank you, Captain.” Is all Ilyana said, she evolved into a leader of decreasing words as the years washed over her. She spent most of her time in the field or organizing resources from her office. She rarely made it home to her cottage just outside the city. Ilyana did, however, routinely visit the Kinloch Circle every three months like clockwork.

  
Ilyana habitually avoided direct audiences with the king. In lieu of debriefing him herself, she would send Captain Harion. The king had been requesting her presence for about two weeks this time and she had been going through her usual great lengths to avoid seeing _him_ in person. Ilyana’s lack of reticence on this day felt very suspicious to Captain Harion. Harion knew something was different.  
  
“Ser, would you like me to come get you with an emergency after five minutes? I do believe the recruits have suddenly broken into the liquor rations.” Captain Harion smirked with his last statement. He was an oak of a man, towering above Ilyana’s diminutive elven frame. The “emergency” tact was the most common tool Ilyana and Harion utilized to keep the meetings that she couldn’t avoid brief.

Ilyana closed her eyes in deliberation. Her black brows right and low, “That won’t be necessary this time, Captain.” Ilyana smiled as the tension in her face released. The remainder of the trip to the palace was made in silence. Which in itself was unusual.

 

“Darling, show you’re father your new toy!” Queen Blythe encouraged her son playfully.  A red lipped smile and her flaxen curls framed her peachy face that bounced with every gesture. She was a glowing woman and regal from the tip of her sharp nose to the train of her blue gown.

 

The herald trumpeted an interruption, the royal family lifted their attention to the throne room doors. “Announcing Commander Ilyana Surana, you’re Majesty.” The herald regaled.  
  
Ilyana entered the throne room leaving Captain Harion at the door. Her crimson cloak flared out behind her like an undulating wave of fire which contrasted sharply with moon glow skin and her raven black hair, which swept to the side in a loose plait.  
  
King Alistair was mid conversation with his wife Queen Blythe and their three year old son, Prince Duncan. He stopped mid sentence as he saw his Commander approach. For the moment time stopped, the same as when she first approached him six years prior at Ostagar. Though she still looked like the young Grey Warden he met that day, her presence lacked the exuberance she once carried; it’d been traded for a calm cool and strength.  
  
Queen Blythe shot the Commander a glare and looked upon her husband with the same expression. Roughly she grabbed her son’s hand and forcefully pulled him toward her.  
  
“Come Duncan, your father has business he must attend to.” Queen Blythe spat her words as she dragged the young Duncan from the throne room.

“But...Mom!” Duncan squealed as he was pulled away.

  
Ilyana didn’t bow or salute, she merely nodded. She was the Commander of Fereldan’s military, and she was also the Hero of Fereldan. This gave her the right to be more casual with the royalty. She utilized her ceremonial freedoms as she had no love for the elf hating, Mage-phobic queen.  
  
“I... didn’t think you’d come.” Alistair paused. “You’ve avoided my summons for half a year.” Alistair stood from his throne flabbergasted. “Um… let’s go to my office.” He waved a hand at her to join him. He removed his formal cape and left it on the throne as he led Ilyana to his study.  
  
The guards stood by outside the office doors bracing themselves for the shouting match that would inevitably ensue, as it had like clockwork almost like every time the King and his Commander were face to face.  
  
Once they were in his office Alistair went to take Ilyana’s cloak but she refused by holding up a single gloved hand in protest.  
  
“What important matters do you wish to discuss with me?” Ilyana paused and caught her breath. “Are you under threat? Are you not satisfied with your security? Your forces?” Ilyana inquired, her voice an icy velvet. She looked at the pile of papers on his desk avoiding Alistair’s gaze.  
  
“Yes, no...Maker’s breath.” Alistair softly pressed a fist to his desktop. “Ilyana.” He paused for a breath. “...we were once as close as two people could be. Can’t we talk, as friends?” Alistair looked down at Ilyana with pleading hazel eyes.  
  
Ilyana pivoted on her heels turning away from him. “Your majesty, that was a long time ago. You asked me to give you distance so you could make things work with your noble human wife.” Ilyana’s words cut deeper than any knife. “I can run your army, I can keep Fereldan safe, but you made it clear that I’m not suitable for a King’s love. Is that not what you said?”

  
The hollow in the middle of Alistair’s chest, behind his heart, ached greater than any injury he earned in battle. Though when he was honest with himself, he earned this wound too. Every day since he ended their relationship, he was filled with regret. Every time he looked at his Commander or even when she sent a report instead of showing herself, he hurt even more. He watched her sunny disposition grow dark and serious. She was a brilliant commander, which made it worse. The more she excelled in her position the colder she became. His loneliness echoed hers.  
  
“Ilyana. Will you... could you... ever forgive me? Please forgive me for what I did to you...to us?” Alistair moved in front of his desk and took her chin in his hand, it was the closest he had been to her in five years.

  
Ilyana turned away. She refused to allow him see her vulnerability as her eyes welled with tears. “Your majesty, I have something I must tell you.”  
  
Alistair reached for her shoulder but retracted his arm before making contact. “Yes?” He swallowed hard. He knew whatever she had to say, he didn’t want to hear it.  
  
“Warden Commander Clarel has requested that I join the rest of my order in Weisshaupt. She’s asked that I take over the aging Warden Commander’s responsibilities there.” Ilyana spoke hurried, a desperate attempt to discuss anything but the past.  
  
Alistair yelped. “No! I’ll lose you forever. I’ll never see you again!” He rushed around the desk reaching out for a hand he couldn’t hold.  
  
Ilyana turned to face Alistair, tears streamed down her face. “Lose me?” She shook her head. “You already lost me! After the landsmeet six years ago, you pushed me away!” Her cheeks wet from tears.  
  
Alistair turned from Ilyana, his arms folded his body convulsed as he let out a sob. “As your King... I forbid you to leave.”  
  
Ilyana, who didn’t believe her heart could break again, discovered the depths of a heart’s sorrow knows no bottom. She removed the glove from her hand and placed her bare hand upon Alistair’s upper back, as she had done so many times before. “Alistair, you’re a Warden too, you know that if I’m summoned, I must go.”  
  
Ilyana paused. She could feel his warmth through his clothes. “Things will be better for you when I leave. Your wife will trust you, everyone will be more comfortable not having one more elven mage running free through Ferelden” Her voice cracked. “It’ll be better for me... if I’m not reminded every day of what I gave up by living…” she paused as her grief overcame her ability to speak. “...by supporting your claim to the throne,” she began to openly sob, “...by being born the wrong race and a mage. This life has made me sorry for being what I am.”  
  
Ilyana broke. Six years of her shell fissured beneath the final blow. She sobbed uncontrollably. “I can’t...not be with you anymore!”  
  
Urgently, Alistair took Ilyana into his arms. He kissed her forehead and held her close, her plate mail pressed again his soft royal tunic.  
  
Ilyana looked up at Alistair. She wrapped her arms around him as he leaned down and kissed her softly. One kiss escalated to many, each one more desperate and deeper than the one before it. For the first time in years the emptiness and loneliness that plagued both of their lives dissolved. Ilyana placed her bare hand upon his chest feeling his racing heart beneath his soft royal tunic as they kissed.  
  
Alistair’s kisses migrated from her lips across her face tasting the salt of her tears and moved to her neck. He whispered “Please, I need you.” He pressed himself against her armor.  
  
With a swift gesture she pushed herself away from him, she knew her willpower was finite and was already buckling under the years of loneliness.  
  
“No, Alistair... one night can’t erase six years or convince me to stay to be your... shameful secret.” Ilyana attempted to regain her composure. “The order has summoned me. I must go. I don’t want to endure anymore glares from your wife for things that aren’t my fault.” Ilyana stared into Alistair’s hazel eyes as she spoke. Her strength returned.  
  
“I’ll leave her! I’ll marry you, I’ll make it right! I’ll do anything!” Alistair fell to his knees as he grabbed her small lithe hand. The hand he always wished he held.  
  
“Alistair... please, don’t do this.” Ilyana dropped to a knee, the armor clanked against the stone. “You and I both have responsibilities that are more important than our individual desires. Maybe someday, when you’re no longer King we can be together again.” She leaned in and kissed him before returning to stand. “I’ll love you, always, Alistair. You will know how to find me.” Quickly Ilyana reached for the door and returned to the throne room.  
  
Alistair slowly returned to his feet. He noticed Ilyana had left her glove on his desk in haste. He clutched it in his hands as he brought it to his cheek. Alistair stuffed the glove into his desk drawer.  
  
During the walk back to Fort Drakon Captain Harion broke the silence with a question, “Will you go directly to Weisshaupt?” He asked alluding to the fact he had listened in on the entire exchange.  
  
Ilyana smiled. Her captain was a pillar of strength and friendship over the years, the only person she confided in on the rarest of occasions. “No, you know I have to make a trip to the Kinloch Circle before I depart.”  
  
Captain Harion smiled. “She’ll be happy to see you.” A moment of silence passed. “I think you’re doing the right thing, Ser. Though, I’d be afraid to be so far from Kinloch, but I think it’s time you found a new a path.”

Ilyana responded with only a smile of affirmation.

***

 

After an eight day journey on horseback through the Bannorn, Ilyana returned to her original home. She no longer donned her heavy plate armor, she traded it for leather and cloth, her sword still sheathed upon her back. The journey had already invigorated her soul: the fresh country air was exhilarating and it was a comfort to be back on the road. When she arrived at Lake Calenhad, She stabled her mare at the Spoiled Princess and was ferried across Lake Calenhad.  
  
Knight Commander Greagoir welcomed Ilyana with almost open arms, the only Mage he never looked at sideways, he ushered her inside.  
  
A loud but exuberant small voice echoed off the stone walls “Mama!”  
  
Ilyana dropped to her knees as the small girl dressed in a tunic and trousers with auburn hair in braids galloped across the floor to her mother. Ilyana wrapped her arms around her daughter lifting her off the ground. The years and weight of the world melted off of Ilyana’s face.  
  
“My little Chaska!” Ilyana showered Chaska with kisses. She held her daughter on her hip as if she was still a toddler, which she was quite a few years beyond that. Ilyana turned to Greagoir,  “My little Dragonling being much trouble?”  
  
The old templar laughed. “Absolutely. She’s a feisty little one with a voracious appetite for knowledge and is always giving the new recruits a hard time. It’s apparent she owns the place. Between her and Dagna the dwarf, I don’t know who’s worse. She claims she wants to grow up to be a templar.” The last statement was a boast.

  
Ilyana set Chaska down and held her hand. “You want to be a templar? Is that so?...I don’t know about that.”  
  
Quickly distracted, Chaska screeched with joy as she saw Wynne head down the hall. “Grandma Wynne! Mama’s here!”  
  
Wynne looked happily bewildered. “Ilyana! You didn’t send a raven, we weren’t expecting you.”  
  
Chaska wrapped her arms around Ilyana’s leg. “Go get Dagna, I need to speak with Grandma Wynne for a moment.”  
  
“Okays!” Chaska skipped down the halls singing at the top of her lungs “Mama’s home! Mama’s home!”  
  
“So, what’s wrong?” Wynne cut to the chase.  
  
Ilyana sighed. “I’ve retired from the Fereldan Army and have been summoned to take the position of Warden-Commander at Weisshaupt. This might be my last time here for a few years...”  
  
Wynne’s brows furrowed. “He still doesn’t know, does he?”  
  
Ilyana leaned against a pillar. “Oh... boy. No. He has his own family... look, if anything happens to me... or you...”  
  
Wynne placed a hand on Ilyana’s shoulder. “I’m taking her to her father. I don’t care what you say. I still have the sealed envelope you gave me years ago.”  
  
Ilyana stood quietly for a moment. “Is she showing any signs?”  
  
Wynne shook her head. “She’s a perfectly normal six year old. She’s a miracle.”  
  
Remorse washed over Ilyana’s face. “She truly is, my little miracle.”  
  
Unbeknownst to Ilyana, after Ilyana’s departure two weeks later, Wynne sent a sealed letter to King Alistair. “It’s about time the King took some...responsibility.” Was what Wynne said as she stamped the seal and sent the courier.


	2. Responsibilities of a King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> King Alistair receives a letter from Wynne that changes his life.

“Your Majesty King Alistair,

I write you now because there’s important information that I do not believe I can hold from you any longer. As you have remarked on many occasions, I am not young any longer and I feel my life my be coming to a close sooner than I hope. This means I must prepare for the inevitable sooner than later. Please sit before you continue.

Here, at Kinloch, in my care is a six year old girl named Chaska Surana. It seems my advice to be more careful fell upon deaf ears, though I do not fault either of you for it, as you have a daughter.  Ilyana gave her into my care when she was born because she was concerned about her safety due to your upcoming marriage. In truth, she missed your wedding as she was in labor at the time.

Chaska is a beautiful and healthy child. She is a miracle, not just because she survived the battle with the Archdemon, but because she is brilliantly intelligent, strong, funny and has the warmest heart. You would not believe what she has done for all those who call Kinloch home.   The Templars play with her daily, as do the Mages, though she does not show any signs of magic herself.

My apologies, I digress… I’m old, Alistair. Her mother has been sent away on duty and she needs at least one parent. She cannot be left here alone when I die. She needs a good home. I know you have a kingdom to rule, but I know you can do better for your daughter than was done for you.  . She is your responsibility, I would rather see Zevran or Morrigan, both having made the offer several times, take her than have her raised by your extended family.

Please come to Kinloch circle at your earliest convenience.

Sincerely,

Wynne.”

 

Alistair stood there for a few moments with his mouth agape. He firmly placed two hands on his desk in an attempt to keep himself standing. His shock manifested in weakness in his knees, the sudden dryness of his mouth and the warm stinging of his tear ducts overtook him immediately.

He immediately began to mull over every encounter with Ilyana Surana over the last few years. He began to put the pieces together, Ilyana’s regular departures to Kinloch, and the month before his wedding she looked… chubby? Not chubby… but glowing and he had just assumed it was from not being on the run constantly… but no. Oh no. Alistair let out a long and unbridled howl. He pushed the door open and barked at his messenger. “Get me Captain… Commander Harion, now!”

Alistair began to pace in his office. A knock at the door. “What do you want?!” Alistair’s tone was sharp.

A maid peeked her head into his study, “Your majesty, the Queen requests your presence.”

Alistair’s brows knit together and in an uncharacteristically low and serious voice he said, “I’m in the middle of something very important regarding the safety of our kingdom, she will wait.”

The maid’s eyes widened and she scuttled off. Commander Harion entered as the maid departed.

“Safety of the Kingdom, Your Majesty?” Harion asked after saluting.

Alistair sighed. “Did you know about this?” Alistair remained pacing across the back of his study.

“Know about what, My Liege?” Harion responded, confused.

Alistair shoved the letter from First Enchanter Wynne in front of his new Commander.

Harion frowned as he let out an elongated exhale. “Whoooooooo boy.” Harion paused trying to determine the most tactical way forward. “Yes, Your Majesty. I knew. I had to know to coordinate with the former commander.” 

Alistair fell to his chair defeated. “Why am I the last person to know that for six years I’ve had a daughter? Who’s been living in a Circle tower?! Why didn’t anyone think the king should know about his child?” He was flushed and his heart pounded.

Harion cleared his throat. “His _illegitimate_ child. My king. Though illegitimate, is his first born. We were protecting Duncan, and her Majesty the Queen. We were also protecting Ilyana, and Chaska. Chaska’s a target. It’d be a riotous scandal if word got out that The King of Ferelden had an illegitimate daughter with his Commander who’s also the Hero of Ferelden. Chaska’s been safe in the Circle under the care of Wynne. Ilyana would see her regularly. I would go visit when Ilyana couldn’t. We’ve been trying to handle this the best we could.”

Alistair’s chest tightened with the grief that filled it. “You’ve met my daughter? Does she think you’re her father?”

Harion laughed. “No, no, no. I’m Uncle Rion to her. She… she doesn’t know who her father is. She doesn’t spend time with normal ‘family’ units in the tower so she doesn’t feel like she’s missing anything. She’s a very happy child. Everyone dotes on her there. Wynne and Dagna do most of the heavy lifting in terms of child rearing. Greagoir helps out a lot too. You really wouldn’t believe what her presence has done to for the relations between Templars and Mages at Kinloch.  I swear, its like she just holds them in the palm of her hand, sire. They can’t get too upset when she’s around, magic all her own.” Harion attempted to placate Alistair’s panic.

Alistair sighed. He didn’t care about that. He cared about the years he missed with Chaska. The life he didn’t know he could’ve had if he’d abdicated the throne. How could he explain this to his Queen? How could he make up for lost time? How could he explain this to… Chaska?

Harion read Alistair’s face. “Your Majesty, might I suggest a Royal Inspection of the Circle tower this week?”

Alistair smiled. He now understood why Ilyana had always trusted in Harion, he could always see a solution. That’s an invaluable trait in a Commander and in a friend. “Yes, I believe you’re right. We’ll leave at once. I’ll go explain to my wife the… gravity of the situation at the Circle.”

“You already sent a message saying the safety of the Kingdom was at stake.” Harion grinned.

“I did, didn’t I. You’re...you’re good at this!” Alistair’s relief washed over his face.

It was late that night Queen Blythe finally saw her Husband again. He attempted to quietly come to bed unnoticed, and he believed he had succeeded until one minute after he had slipped into the sheets and closed his eyes.

“You’re leaving again, aren’t you.” Blythe said as she rolled over to face him.

Alistair let out an almost obnoxious sigh. “Yes, my love. I must go inspect the roads and deal with a security matter at Kinloch.” He rolled onto his side to face her. Her pale hair glowed illuminated by the firelight.

“Why can’t I come? You’re always having to leave me here. Maybe take Duncan? He misses his father when you’re gone, which is often.” Blythe reaches out and placed a delicate hand on his cheek.

Alistair smiled then scowled, taking her hand and placing it on the mattress as he held it. He was juggling so many conflicting feelings, he wanted to explode. He loved his wife and son. They brought him tremendous joy over the years. Though he and Blythe were little more than strangers on their wedding day, she had become his friend. “My dear, I was trained as a templar, I fought the Archdemon beside the Hero of Fereldan and I’m still a Grey Warden. I’m more than a king, and I have responsibilities that take me places that are too dangerous for a Queen and four year old prince.”

Blythe scowled and rolled over in bed away from Alistair. “It’s not fair that because I was born to nobility and given a proper upbringing that you should neglect me and our son so frequently.”

Alistair sighed, he longed to comfort her, but his heart was filled with confusion and conflict. He scooted toward her and wrapped his arms around her. For a moment he pretended she was someone else, but Blythe was taller and softer than Ilyana and the halo of ringlets were a noticibly different texture than Ilyana’s soft waves. He despised himself for a moment. He spent years getting Ilyana out of his mind and actively cherished his lovely and beautiful wife, and now to only feel longing and loneliness. He’d never felt lonelier than that night as he tightly held his lovely queen. He didn’t sleep, he counted the hours until dawn when he would depart for Kinloch Circle.

On the banks of Lake Calenhad King Alistair stood on the hill overlooking the lake and the tower. The wind lightly blew and for a moment he forgot he was being escorted by ten knights and Commander Harion with a cook and porter. He closed his eyes reflecting upon the last time he was there.

_“I’m sorry… I guess this wasn’t how you wanted to return home.” Alistair said looking down at Ilyana. She was fighting tears. He thought about all of the dead Mages, the demons, her friend Cullen. She tried to save everyone, it was so...like her._

_“No, this wasn’t what I expected returning to the Circle… thanks for being there. You… it was good to not be alone.” Ilyana said forcing a smile._

“Your Majesty?”

“Your Majesty….” Harion repeated himself noticing Alistair had drifted off in thought. “Should we cross now, or tomorrow?”

Alistair smiled, for a moment he swore he could smell Ilyana and shook his head returning to the present. “No, let’s go now. The day’s still young.”

Upon reaching the Circle they were greeted with a warm Templar welcome and smiles from the Mages. The Templar’s escorted King Alistair and his entourage upstairs to the great Hall.

Alistair’s heart began to pound as they ascended floors. The Circle had rebuilt itself beautifully, but he remembered the carnage of before. Thinking of when he and Ilyana fought the blood Mages kept him from panicking too much hoping he wouldn’t disappoint Chaska.

Upon their entrance to the great hall, Wynne gave Alistair a tight hug and then promptly slapped him upside the head. The unanimous gasp reverberated through the hall. Alistair’s entourage immediately reached for their weapons.

“It’s all right… I deserved it, a long time ago.” Alistair calmed everyone. His entourage relaxed.

Wynne led Alistair, alone around the corridor to a small room. There they silently waited for a few moments. Wynne gave Alistair a few glances that were entire silent lectures on his conduct.

“Quiet, Wynne.” Alistair said pacing in the room.

“I have not spoken a word.” Wynne grinned as she folded her arms.

“You’re thinking loudly.” Alistair exclaimed quietly. The anticipation was beginning to devour him.

“A king with telepathy. That _is_ some strong magic, Templar King.” Wynne remarked with a smirk.

“It’s Warden King to you, grandma.” Alistair folded his arms to mock Wynne’s posture.

After a few minutes went by, Dagna walked into the small room holding the small hand of a girl almost her size with long auburn braids. Alistair’s heart skipped a beat. He knew her before anyone said a word, she looked just like a small version of her mother, but with lighter hair and less pointed ears, like his own. It took all of his restraint to not run across the room and take the child into his arms. He had to remind himself that the girl didn’t know who _he_ was even if he knew who _she_ was.

“Chaska, this’s a friend of your mother’s! His name is Alistair. How do we meet strangers?” Dagna asked kind of pushing Chaska toward Alistair.

Alistair knelt down onto one knee.

“Hello, Alistair.” Chaska said shyly as she attempted a curtsy. She could see the adults in the room were tense and didn’t understand why. “My name’s Chaska.” She paused then spoke rapidly “My mom worked for the King. His name’s also Alistair. Do you know him? Is that a common name? My mom and King Alistair, they saved the world with Gramma Wynne before I was born. I also have an Uncle Zevran, he helped too. I had a Mabari named Woola, but she got old and died. This giant tower is my house! Do you like it?”

Chaska looked up at Wynne and her eyes widened. “You… are King Alistair!”

“Yes, it didn’t look this nice when I was here before.” Alistair smiled. He was immediately charmed by her smile.

“You’ve been here before? I’ve never seen you.” Chaska looked skeptical. Dagna tried not to laugh.

“It was long before you were born, I was here with your mother, actually.” Alistair chuckled as he replied.

Chaska looked down. “I wish she could stay here with me. Or I could go save the world with her. That’s what I’m gonna do someday. I’m gonna save the world, just like her. She says my dad was there too. But I’ve never met him.” Chaska looked around cautiously and leaned in toward Alistair and in a loud whisper, “I’m not supposed to ask about him. Gramma says.”

Alistair could no longer contain himself and he swooped Chaska up in a big hug. “It’s okay, Chaska.” A few tears streamed Alistair’s face. He placed his hand on the back of her head and patted her hair burying the small girl’s head in his chest. Years of regret and the stress of his responsibilities as king melted away. In his arms he was holding _his_ daughter. The daughter he didn’t get to hold as an infant, he missed her first skinned knee, her first word, her first steps, he knew everything he missed because of everything he didn’t miss with Duncan.

Chaska  returned the tightness of the hug. In the running list of best hugs that Chaska kept in her head, this one was near the top.

“You give hugs like Mom. You _must_ be her friend. Want to see my garden?” Chaska squeaked.

Alistair let her go and stood taking her hand. “I’d love to.”

“Are you leaving quickly, or will you get to stay here for a while?” Chaska asked as they walked through the halls, she tightly held Alistair’s hand. “No one’s gonna believe I’m friends with the king. I’m gonna have to introduce you.”

Alistair laughed as he was pulled by the little girl. He then snatched her up and put her on his shoulders. “Yes, I’ll be here a week, and return frequently.”

Chaska squealed with delight. “I’m so much taller than when I’m on Mom’s shoulders! I can’t wait to tell her about meeting the king! I’m the tallest kid in Ferelden!” Chaska giggles as she led Alistair through the Circle outside to the garden.

Alistair was the happiest he had been in a very long time and paid no mind to the disapproving looks from his entourage.


	3. What Makes a Queen?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Queen Blythe receives a letter from her personal informant in King Alistair’s guard.

The sun radiated through the window after dawn, shining directly in Queen Blythe’s eyes. Her maid, Tierie had forgotten to close the curtain again. Blythe blinked awake and sat up suddenly when she realized it was a raven sitting on the that pushed the drape aside.

  
In a swift panic, the queen grabbed her red robe, wrapped herself as she bounded from bed. She approached the raven and took the scroll fixed to its leg, pulled out some seeds from the dresser beside the window and placed them on the sill for the raven.

  
Her heart beat rapidly, as if she’d ran several miles as she began to read the scroll. Upon deciphering the message, Blythe’s eyes widened and the heat of anger filled her body and flushed her earlobes red.

  
Tierie entered the royal chamber back first holding a silver tray with tea and freshly cut fruit, when she turned to see her lady, awake and standing she let out a small yelp of a gasp almost and almost dropped the tray.

  
“Your Majesty’s awake!” Tierie gently sat the tray on the side table beside the impressive oak canopy bed.

  
“I didn’t mean to startle you, dear.” Blythe cooled herself, the same as she had when she was a child back in the Marches when her parents would scream at her for giving her siblings cookies and treats without permission. Blythe oversaw most of her siblings’ upbringing so she was constantly being scolded for their actions.

  
Tierie took the porcelain tea cup and handed it to her mistress, “Here, Majesty.” She wrapped her hand around Blythe’s for a moment as a consoling gesture.

  
Blythe smiled and nodded in thanks and reminded herself that elves truly did make wonderful servants. Blythe inhaled the spicy aroma of the herbed tea with milk and honey before taking a sip. Her expression returned to the a more serious state, her faint smile lines becoming hardened in a scowl. “It appears that our King returns to us this day.”

  
Tierie’s large blue eyes widened and a grinned, “This… this’s wonderful news, Your Majesty! Little Duncan will be so excited to see his father!” Tierie paused and studied her Lady, “Is this not an occasion for joy? Is he hurt? Does he bring bad news from the Circle?”  
Blythe saw the distress her expression caused her maid and immediately put on her radiant smile, “I’m sorry, my dear, I’m just distressed we weren’t given more warning so we could welcome our King with a proper feast. Duncan has a play date with Arlessa’s son Malcolm, they’re the same age you know, and I simply cannot reschedule it. I’m afraid I won’t be here to welcome our King.”  
Tierie gently touched Blythe’s shoulder with a warm and comforting smile. “He’s a good man and devoted father, he’ll understand.”

  
Blythe returned the smile, “Thank you, Tierie. You’re always my comfort.”  
Later that afternoon in the gardens, Queen Blythe Arlessa Katrine stood as they watched their young sons play.  
The Arlessa was a gentlewoman from generations of Ferelden blood that dated back as long as anyone could remember. She was about Blythe’s age and one of the Queen’s only close friends. Most of the Bannorn still felt salty about the Bastard King choosing a bride from the Free Marches, but the union had bolstered trade which benefited everyone.

  
“Your Majesty, you’ve been such a breath of fresh air, in Ferelden. You keep a most warm and modest palace, it sets the standard for the country.” Katrine smiled and brushed an auburn strand off her face.

  
The queen smiled and gazed upon her small son, he looked so much like a miniature version of her husband, and this made her smile.

  
After several hours of idle conversation and the two children running around enough for them to be put to bed, the Queen changed into her favorite blue dinner gown, it contrasted with the gold of her hair, and went early to the dining room where she waited for her king to join her.

  
About ten minutes late, as usual, King Alistair entered the room and ran up to his wife, lifting her from her seat and gave her a cascade of kisses.

  
“Oh, how I missed you, my Queen.”  
Blythe flushed and struggled to regain her composure. He down sat beside her.  
Blythe quickly drained her glass of wine while the servants hurried about bringing in the courses.

  
“You’ve got that look, I know… I know. I’m sorry I’m late. We only returned two hours ago and I had to see Duncan and read to him. It’s not a night at home if I don’t. Not for him.” Alistair took a drink of wine from his silver goblet.

  
The back of Blythe’s throat was dry and she took another drink of wine. “Is our Kingdom safe, my lord?”

  
Alistair sighed with a smile. “Aside from the bandits, which we must deploy more patrols to handle, our Kingdom is safe. My old friend Wynne, however isn’t faring so well, and that conniving Old Mage lured me to the Circle having me believe there was a threat.”

  
Blythe took a few shallow breaths and held stem of her glass firmly. After the servants finished placing the meal on the table they departed leaving the royal couple to themselves.

  
“My King, we need to have a conversation.”

  
“Are we not conversing now?” Alistair chuckled as he ate a slice of bread with a soft cheese spread upon it.

  
Blythe smiled, Alistair’s humor and enthusiasm always comforted her, even when it was him who caused her distress. “Yes, but please… there’s no reason for this charade I know why you went to the Circle.”

  
Alistair raised an eyebrow, “I told you, my friend Wynne… the Circle Mage who’s older than Thedas…”

  
Blythe exhaled before she cut him off, “Is raising your bastard daughter at Kinloch Circle.”

  
Alistair almost spit out his wine, he grabbed a napkin, wiped his face and immediately took Blythe’s hands.  
“My love… I…” Alistair was suddenly without words. He planned to tell her, but wanted some time to sort through how to do it.

  
A single tear fell from Blythe’s face, her already pink cheeks became ruddy and her eyes glassy with tears. “I believe you would’ve told me… eventually.”

  
Alistair rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand. “I’ve never betrayed you. She was conceived long before I’d ever seen your face or heard your name.”  
Blythe frees one of her hands from his and wiped her eyes. “I know… I knew that you and Surana were… a thing before you were king. Did you know all this time? Is that why she looked at me with those hatred filled eyes?”

  
The reality of his situation hit Alistair like a stone wall collapsing on his chest. There he was with one of the most beautiful women in all of Thedas. Alistair had sent his first love away, in his eyes the most beautiful woman in Thedas. Not just beautiful because of appearance, but because of every time he saw her confronted with the seemingly impossible, she turned the situation around into a victory where as many people could win as possible, every situation except his kingship. Alistair raised Blythe’s hand to his lips. He loved his wife, she was precious, regal and thoughtful. Ilyana was gone, Alistair told himself, he needed to focus on reality.

  
“She didn’t hate you, she hated me. I was the one who ended our relationship, she never forgave me, and I don’t blame her.” Alistair placed a hand on Blythe’s cheek. “I’m married to you. I made a vow, and I intend to keep it.”

  
Blythe smiled and took Alistair’s hand in hers. “I expect you’ll be taking more visits to the Circle regularly?”

  
Alistair raised a brow, “Yes, I was intending on it. She’s still my child and deserves to have a father in her life, especially now that her mother’s at Weisshaupt.”

  
Blythe nodded “Good, no one should grow up the way you did, my King.”

  
Alistair pulled Blythe out of her seat into his arms and kissed her deeply. He picked up his wife and carried her into their royal apartments.

  
The servants delivered their untouched dinner to their quarters when they noticed the royal couple had left.

In the early predawn hours between night, Alistair rose from his bed, kissed Blythe on the forehead, grabbed a robe and departed his bedroom for his study. From his desk drawer he pulled out Ilyana’s small leather glove.

  
Alistair clutched the glove to his chest and began to cry, tears streamed down his red and blotchy face.

  
“Why didn’t you tell me?!” Alistair wailed.

 

  
Camp at night, on the road to Denerim. Zevran and Leliana were swapping stories with Wynne and Ogren, Morrigan sat in her own corner studying her mother’s grimoire. Ilyana sat away from everyone for the moment, normally she was in the middle of it, but Alistair could tell she was troubled. She was so young, nineteen.

  
Alistair took a seat beside Ilyana.  
“I wanted to thank you.” Alistair said a little clumsily.

  
“For what?” She turned to face him with bright eyes and a soft smile.

  
“You didn’t have to try to save everyone at Redcliffe, but you did. You went into the fade, you freed Conor. It means a lot to me. For what it’s worth, thank you.” Alistair placed a hand on her upper back. It started as a friendly gesture, but the. Ilyana leaned into him and wrapped his arm around her. They sat side by side looking at their companions.

  
“I just… I wish I could’ve saved more people in Redcliffe. Too many people died because of a demon, because my friend poisoned the Arl… I… I hope that I do enough.” Ilyana said softly.

  
“You’re enough for me.” Alistair said as his free hand lifted Ilyana’s chin for a kiss.

Alistair shook his head and roughly shoved the glove into drawer and slammed it shut while wiping the tears from his face.

“No… I have to live with today… I have to let you go. I’m sorry. I can’t do this to my family anymore.”

  
Alistair returned to bed and wrapped his arms around Blythe and held her tightly.

 


	4. Stones & Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ilyana Surana arrives at Weisshaupt Fortress in the Anderfels (Warning: there is violence in this chapter)

 

“While we debate who will next be given the title of First Warden, you will be the Warden Regent to the King Wilhelm Augustin.” Warden Voltag Hartig spit out his words at Ilyana Surana, the Hero of Ferelden.

Ilyana stood at attention, stunned. After more than a month’s journey through the roughest terrain she’d ever seen, Ilyana’s promise of a high ranking position and a good future looked more like a charade and a waste of time. She left her daughter, her friends, her life and home for this?

Voltag studied Ilyana as he paced across the cold stone floor of the First Commander’s office at Weisshaupt Fortress. “The rumors are you already know how to serve a king.” The words that fell from his narrow lips tasted bitter and disgusted him.

“This isn’t Ferelden. Whatever you… children did to end to the blight and not sacrifice your lives with the Archdemon, we’ll find out.”

Ilyana pretended not to hear the insult. “Sir, I wish to send a letter to inform my family of my safe arrival.”

Immediately Voltag stepped closer, mere inches from Ilyana, leering over her like a crumbling tower. He didn’t have long until the Calling came for him. He smelled rancid and his skin was beginning to grey. He wore traditional Grey Warden platemail and his dust colored hair was pulled back into a long braid.

 

“Have you forgotten your oath living in the lap of luxury? There is no life, but the life you have with the Wardens. No connections, but to your order. This is what you sacrifice, mage.” Flecks of spittal from his emphasis on the word sacrifice landed on Ilyana’s face.

Ilyana said nothing. She neither winced nor retaliated.

Voltag turned from Ilyana and looked up at the giant griffon crest molded from silver on the dull grey stone walls. “Our duty is sacred. While yes, as nothing more than a child you may have ended the fifth Blight, we here in the Anderfels face darkspawn eternally. Arruns, please give our new warden the tour of the fortress.”

Without hesitation, Ilyana followed the younger warden out of the room. Arruns wore the traditional blue warden maille, he appeared to also be Ander, a land of giants to Ilyana. After they were a few rooms down from Voltag’s office, Arrun turned to Ilyana, “I’m sorry our Commander has such poor manners. Some of us believe you’re a hero, stopping a Blight is our purpose, and you deserve better treatment than that.” He paused while he studied the small, yet sturdy, elf. “Though, the fact that you live is very suspicious. We’re not sure what to make of your survival, and installing a fellow warden on the throne of Ferelden. These are very unusual circumstances. Unusual isn’t favored here.”

Ilyana smirked, “I’ve noticed… hopefully I can transfer to Orlais or somewhere else soon, and my unusual nature won’t be around any longer to offend you.”

Arrun scowled, “You best watch your words, knife ear. You may be a warden, and a hero, but you will fall in line, or you will face the Deep Roads alone.”

The next day Ilyana was presented to the King of the Anderfels, Wilhelm Augustin, as if she were a gift, paraded in front of the court and royal family. King Wilhelm was about fifty years in age, fair, sand colored hair and his pious nature etched lines into his face. After the festivities of the new Warden Regent joining the court had ended, the King turned his attentions to Ilyana with a barrage of questions.

“Are you a pious woman, Warden Surana?” King Wilhelm said as he placed his hand over his gold leafed copy of the Chant of Light. “Or do you carry the heretical beliefs of your… people?”

This was the thirteenth racial comment that was made about her that day, and Ilyana found it increasingly difficult to remain calm. “I was raised in the Circle, Your Majesty.”

King Wilhelm’s eyes narrowed at he studied Ilyana. “That’s right, you’re a mage. I do find it incredible that the Grey Wardens allow mages to exist so freely in the order, when it was Andraste who said, ‘Magic is meant to serve mankind, not rule over him.’” He paused, “You also didn’t answer my question.”

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty, I believed my statement was an answer. The Circles are Chantry institutions, I’m Andrastian, I wasn’t raised Dalish.” Ilyana exhaled hoping to calm herself.  
The king sat back in his throne, “I see I may have offended you, you must be used to a different dynamic when dealing with royals.”

“I was Commander of the entire Ferelden army, that’s a different position than a living totem.” Ilyana sharply replied.

The king frowned, “It’s so unusual to see an elven mage given such high status in any civilized nation.”

“I earned it with the blade of my sword and the might of my staff, Your Majesty.” Ilyana’s tone grew in volume and voracity.

“And not from the flat of your back?” King Wilhelm lashed out. He watched Ilyana recoil and grinned. “Just as I thought, you, like all your kind, only progress through spread thighs and servitude. The rumors spread long ago, that the bastard son of King Maric bedded his elf friend. When it became time for him to grow up he picked a suitable bride and cast his toy away.” He studied Ilyana. “You’re pleasing enough to look at… but you’re no queen. You’re manners do you no service.”

“My manners took me the head of an Archdemon, more Darkspawn than you’ll ever face, the head of my kingdom’s traitor, demons, bandits, monsters and men. If you insist on demeaning my existence to that of a whore, than I’ll insit the right to defend my honor the traditional way, blade to blade.”

King Wilhelm cackled, “I’m sorry, did you...threaten me, elf?” The guards all took a step toward Ilyana in unison. A loud move of intimidation.

Ilyana reminded herself that there would be no one who would or could come to her rescue this time, she paused. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty, you’ve misunderstood my Ferelden sense of humor.” Ilyana smiled diplomatically.

King Wilhelm pushed out his bottom lip as he ran his tongue over his bottom teeth with a sneer. “If I were you, I’d remember you’re no longer in Ferelden, knife ear. You will behave yourself at court, you will not exhibit any magic. When your successor has been determined I will be free of you. In the meantime, you’re no different than an ornament on my throne. Is this understood?”

Ilyana said nothing, but was lead out of the throne room, away from the palace and back to Weisshaupt fortress.

That night Ilyana held her cloak tightly while she was unable to sleep. It was painfully clear that she should’ve stayed in Ferelden. There she was at least among friendly faces, most of the time, and was respected for her actions, instead of being judged and hounded for being what she was. It was worse than the circle tower, there was no Jowan to joke with, no Templars to tease. She was so far from Chaska. In the dark, she whispered a lullaby hoping somehow the western winds would carry it across the continent to her daughter. Before she finally closed her eyes she told herself a story about a young elven mage who went off to join the Wardens and against all odds survived with the love of her life and together they worked to save the world. She didn’t focus on what happened after the world was saved but for one moment in time she was back at camp, his arms around her and there was nowhere safer in the world.

The next morning, Ilyana found herself in front of Commander Voltag and his assistant Arruns again. Voltag paced furiously for almost an hour before he said anything, leaving Ilyana to stand in silence.

“You threatened the King of the Anderfels, knife ear?” Voltag finally erupted. “You, on your second day here at Weisshaupt Fortress.”

“I’ll do worse than that to you if you don’t start calling me by my correct title of Warden. I was taught that race doesn’t matter to the Wardens, I see it matters an awful lot to you. Did I not survive the joining?” Ilyana replied with a firm but even tone.

Once again Voltag stood towering over Ilyana, staring down at her as if she disgusted him. “I’ve conferred with the other Warden-Commanders across Thedas before your arrival. It’s been agreed that you must tell us how you slayed the Archdemon and survived.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t. It isn’t something that can be repeated.” Ilyana struggled to maintain her calm.

Voltag slouched down so he could be eye to eye with Ilyana. “Can’t or won’t?”

“Fine, I won’t tell you.” Ilyana stood her ground.

“It was magic I suspect?” Voltag spoke almost nose to nose with Ilyana before abruptly turning about face and took a few steps toward the wall with the golden griffon crest. “Blood magic, no doubt. Making deals with demons so you could live? How many died for your sins?”

“It was magic, but it wasn’t blood magic. I’ve made no deals with demons.” Ilyana spoke bitterly.

“Are you going to cooperate? Or are you going to choose to remain obstinate? There will be consequences, I don’t give a damn that you’re the ‘Hero of Ferelden.’ In my office, you’re a subordinate Warden, and if you do not tell me what I ask I will be forced to pursue disciplinary measures.” There was a sinister quality to the sudden calm in Voltag’s voice.

“I’m afraid, I’m not at liberty to give you the information you request, because honestly, I don’t know.” Ilyana fighting the urge to attack or run stood her ground.

Voltag shrugged, “You give me no choice, Arruns, arrest this Warden and take her down to the third dungeon. She’ll talk, after enough time.”

Arruns grabbed Ilyana’s arm, she pulled away and cast a barrier spell around herself and a force push at Arruns, which knocked him off his feet onto the ground and into the wall. Voltag shouted something in Ander that Ilyana didn’t understand.

Moments later the room was filled with Wardens with their weapons trained on Ilyana, she cast freezing spells and summoned lightning, trying not to kill anyone, but subdue them. Ilyana went to cast another round of lightning, and found herself unable. Ilyana looked up and saw one of the Wardens holding a staff, she had been dispelled. Ilyana grabbed a sword from a frozen warden’s scabbard, but it was frozen to the warden.

Ilyana dug in deep and gained enough power to cast a wall of fire. The screams of wardens were hardly audible over the roar of flames for a moment before they were extinguished and Ilyana saw the mage approaching her, it was Arruns. He shook his head and with a whisper Ilyana fell to the stone floor, unconscious in the throws of a nightmare.

Days later Ilyana awoke in tears and pain. She tried to move, but found her ankles were shackled to the stone floor and her arms locked in chains behind her. A gag filled her mouth and was tied behind her head. There was only the smallest sliver of light that came from a torch down what Ilyana assumed was a hall. For the first time in Ilyana’s life, she was truly without hope. Silently she cried on the stone floor and in her silence she prayed:

Blessed are they who stand before  
The corrupt and the wicked and do not falter.  
Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just.

 

 

 


	5. In Death, Sacrifice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morrigain recieves a message in a dream and investigates the source while King Alistair recieves bad news

The familiar green mist of the Fade swirled around Morrigan.  After a few moments she became more firmly rooted in the Fade, and she noticed the crumbling stone fortress around her. “Well, well… what is this place? Why are we  _ here _ ?”

 

A stone path formed in front of her and cautiously, with staff in hand, Morrigan followed, black cloak billowing around her. She walked for what felt like miles of unchanging space, an endless stone hall, perpetual mist with no beginning and no end; an endless loop. The longer she walked, the more the stone floor and walls became homogenized into the same repeating pattern.

 

“T’is quite peculiar, this space,” Morrigan commented to herself as she took in the landscape, though she knew trying to memorize the Fade was pointless.   She turned around to discover she was face to face with a giant stone wall with a golden griffon crest mounted upon it. Glancing back to the direction she faced before, instead of open fade she stared down a long dark stone stairwell. She grunted softly in disapproval and descended the stairs. In the distance she could hear screams, those of a woman, reverberating against damp stone. That she did not care for in the slightest.  Yet, she could not leave it be. A bad habit she had picked up from an old friend.

 

Morrigan cast a spell that illuminated the stone at the top of her staff, making shadows dance wildly across the walls. An impending sense of dread began to scratch at Morrigan’s heels. She reached the bottom of the stairs, and blackness greeted her, a darkness so complete that it swallowed up the light of her staff as she walked on ground she could but barely see.  

 

“Demon, show yourself!” Morrigan commanded.  She whipped around feeling eyes upon her. All she saw, however, was a dim light in the distance. Morrigan ran toward it. The distance was impossibly far, until she was immediately in front of it.

 

The light came from a hole in the wall. Morrigan’s gaze followed the beam of light  with her eyes. It lead to a prison cell with thick metal bars. A unidentifiable creature lurked in the shadows of the cell. Huddled and limp, slow shallow breaths created exaggerated shadows. The sound of a breathless whimper reverberated off the surrounding stone. Morrigan approached cautiously and called out, “Identify yourself.”

 

Only the quiet sound of muffled sobs returned. Morrigan lifted her staff and angled it down to illuminate what was inside the cell.

 

“My… friend…” Morrigan placed a hand on a bar, after identifying the cell’s inhabitant as Ilyana Surana.  She was bound and gagged, a mere skeleton, her dry thin skin spread tightly across her face. “What has happened to you?” 

 

Morrigan reached into the cell and removed the gag from Ilyana’s mouth and placed a gentle hand on Ilyana’s hollow cheek. 

 

Through dry cracked lips Ilyana said, “Weisshaupt.” barely audible above a whisper.

 

Morrigan sat up in bed, her heart racing. She looked across the room and smiled as she saw her son, Kieran, asleep in his bed. The Empress of Orlais provided comfortable accommodation for her courtiers. Morrigan rose from her bed, grabbed a robe, sat at her desk and began to pen a letter. 

 

“Your Imperial Majesty,

 

I must personally see to a matter that has been brought to my attention. I shall only be gone for a few day’s time, and fear not, your safety shall be ensured during my absence. Time is of the essence, thus I will have already departed by the time you read this.

 

-M”

 

Morrigan quickly dressed herself and wrote a loving note for Kieran to discover. Before departing, she paid an elven kitchen servant to bring Keiran his meals and and snacks every few hours.

 

After all of her preparations were made, Morrigan transformed into a raven and flew west. When she was clear of towns she transformed into a creature that flew much faster than a raven.

 

***

Ilyana screamed, the thin chain rope ripped more flesh off her back and she dangled from chains tied to each of her limbs, her shoulders long dislocated and hyper extended. The sharp searing pain was a welcome distraction from the pulsating and tearing ache which wrapped around her shoulders and back.

 

Despite the best efforts of Voltag and his lacky, Arruns, Ilyana had refused to disclose how she and Alistair survived destroying the Archdemon. Such information was deemed too essential to let Ilyana continue her duty as a Grey Warden. For six months they tortured her daily hoping to pry the answers from her lips. Every night after her interrogation, Arruns would cast healing spells and see her wounds in an attempt to appeal to her humanity. Every night she refused.

 

“Voltag, stop! She’s a mage, she could succumb to a demon at any moment and we’ll have an abomination on our hands.” Arrans the Warden Mage pleaded. “It’s been over six months… she’s not gonna say anything.”

 

Voltag couldn’t resist a last whip before he walked around to Ilyana’s front. He roughly grabbed her face in his hands and yanked out the gag. “Do you have anything to say, ‘Hero of Ferelden?’”

 

On the edge of consciousness Ilyana rallied and in a hoarse voice whispered, “Fuck you.” She spit blood in Voltag’s face and began to laugh a wheezing, painful cackle colored by the gurgling of blood in her mouth.

 

Voltag slapped Ilyana across the face. “Send her back to her cell. Lose the key, we’re done here, Warden.” Voltag slammed the door behind him as he departed.

 

Arruns lowered Ilyana to the stone floor. He detached one limb at a time from the chains and bound her wrists together. He held her in his lap, she weighed almost nothing and limp in his arms. After studying the state of her newest injuries, he cast a few mending spells to close the oozing gashes on her back, pushed her arm back into its shoulder socket and tried to heal a few more of her wounds. Despite his best efforts, she wasn’t long for the world. He carried her back to her cell and connected her chains to the anchor set into the floor. 

 

Arruns sighed as he looked at her, he remembered how vibrant and beautiful she was when she arrived to Weisshaupt. He brushed a stray black hair from her face. “If only you’d talk, we could get past this. You don’t have to be so stubborn. It’s… an unbecoming quality in a woman. If you could talk, I could keep healing you, I’d put you back together. I could make you my wife, I could protect you. But I can’t do anything until you talk. Voltag’s right.”

 

“Step away from her, slowly.” 

 

Arruns dropped Ilyana to the ground and jumped to his feet, startled. “ Who’s there?”

 

“The last voice you will ever hear.”

 

In a bright flash of white light Arruns was frozen and then immediately shattered. Morrigan stepped from the shadows and immediately began tending to Ilyana. She unbound her and removed her gag. A few tears ran down Ilyana’s face.

 

“You… you came.” Ilyana attempted to stand, but was unable. 

 

Morrigan leaned down and said, “I will be but a moment.” She departed and returned dragging an unconscious prison guard with her. “I know you do not care for this area of magic, my friend, but if we are leave, we must work together.  And quickly..”

 

Morrigan began whispering incantations and slit the guard’s throat. As the guard’s life faded, Ilyana began to regain hers. Muscle began to regrow and soon she was no longer the corpse, but a weak person. 

 

“You must maintain this spell as we depart.  Leaving this fortress will require all our strength..” Morrigan spoke hurriedly as she explained the craft to her friend. Ilyana picked up on it right away. 

 

“T’is well to see your mind is still sharp.  I was concerned you might have refused on principle.” Morrigan smiled placing a hand on Ilyana’s shoulder.

 

Ilyana smirked, “I didn’t become an abomination on principle, but I will reclaim what’s mine.” A newfound hardness in her demeanor caught Morrigan off guard, though she appreciated it. Ilyana grabbed Arruns’ staff and then entered the cell across from hers and rummaged the corpse that lay inside. She grabbed a book and tied it to herself in a sling across her back. Together they ascended the staircase prepared for battle as if the Fifth Blight was yesterday. 

 

Their magic sung together again.  On stolen strength, Illyana unleashed ice upon the first guard she saw, and with a curled fist, manifested stone to smash the man to pieces.  He had heard her scream and done nothing. Morrigan drew the life from the next Warden, fueling Illyana with the lives of others. Others who would have killed her by inches, by degrees.  There was no pity in either of them. It wasn’t long before the alarm was sounded in Weisshaupt and Morrigan and Ilyana were forced to fight their way through waves of Grey Wardens. Every life Ilyana made her that much stronger. 

 

Seeing Illyana near drunk of blood and rage, Morrigan reached out and gently grabbed Ilyana’s forearm.  Ilyana’s clothes were soaked with blood, she no longer looked like a wraith but strong and alive with a previously unseen fierceness to her face. Her friend had been about to take another path, the one that lead to the great hall rather than the way out.

  
  
  


“Compose yourself.  Fighting further holds no glory, nor a resolution of any sort.  Leaving would be the wise option, for the woman who once advocated the middle way, ..” Morrigan said, attempting to persuade her friend, to remind of the woman she was, not the tortured thing she had become. 

 

Ilyana panted for a moment before meeting her companion’s golden eyes.  When Morrigan looked deeper she saw terrible sadness being washed over by waves of resolute anger caused by months of imprisonment. 

 

Resolute and remorseful, Ilyana shook her head, “I’m sorry, but I can’t be that person right now.” Ilyana’s violet irises were a dark red, a side effect from the blood magic Morrigan used to restore Ilyana’s life.

 

“Do not surrender to the demons. Rage will only use you.” Morrigan tightened her grip on Ilyana’s arm.

 

“Don’t worry, what I possess naturally is far more destructive than what a rage demon can offer.” Ilyana smiled as the red slowly faded from her eyes.

 

Morrigan feeling relief, released Ilyana’s forearm and held her arm out in front of her. “After you, my friend.”

 

Ilyana blasted open the doors to the main hall. There Voltag stood with ten Wardens by his side. Ilyana extended her hand, fingers curling into a claw, and with her magic wrent the golden crest of the Grey Wardens from the wall. It hung above Voltag’s lackeys for a singular moment, a breath, a heartbeat, as the men who had signed off on her torture contemplated their doom.  She crushed them with it. Debris and dust cascaded down the wall. 

 

Voltag stood alone, a wavering two-handed sword pointed at Ilyana. With a swift gesture, Ilyana pinned Voltag against the back wall with two of the fallen Warden’s swords, one in each shoulder.

 

“They will take your head for this!” A mouthful of blood dribbled down his face and neck as Voltag spoke.

 

Ilyana picked up Voltag’s sword as she approached him. She studied it, eyes tracking how the firelight licked along the blade, feeling the weight and heft of it in her hands. She shook her head, “Maybe.” 

 

She swung it around and thrust it through his heart, driving the blade until it struck the stone wall behind him with a muffled  _ chink _ . “I hope you believe torturing me for six months in that caged hole was a fair exchange for your life.”

 

Morrigan stood by the door, knowing whatever Ilyana endured had changed her permanently. The apparent truth broke Morrigan’s heart. She remembered holding Ilyana tightly as she sobbed after Alistair sent her away, a woman with a gentle heart.  A heart far more gentle than Morrigan’s own.

 

Ilyana crossed the floor to Morrigan. “We must part ways from here, my friend.” 

 

Understanding, Morrigan nodded. “I must return to Val Royeaux.” She wanted to say so much more, but the sounds of footsteps on stone approaching signaled that they ran out of time.

 

Ilyana placed a firm hand on Morrigan’s shoulder. “Be well, I can’t thank you enough.” There was much more she wanted to say, but she refrained.

 

With a nod of acknowledgement, Morrigan smiled and transformed into a raven and flew off and Illyana was alone, surrounded by the carnage she created. She darted out of the main hall and began to climb down the outer wall under the cover of night’s darkness. 

 

***

A light rapping on the the door distracted Alistair from concentrating on the letter he was attempting to write.  Why had no one told him how much letter writing a king did. Surely Cailan hadn’t done this much time with ink and quill. Alistair then remembered that Anora did most of the legislating and shuddered while he remembered her swift betrayal. 

 

For a moment Alistair agonized over the use of “our” or “his” in regards to Ferelden trade relations. He wished he had his last missive copied so he could use it as a guide, it established trade with Kirkwall and Navarra maybe this time he could get lower export taxes on the kingdom’s goods to Orlais.

 

Alistair really wanted to grab his sword and shield and leave for his daily training. Stress had been building and maintaining his physical health were his second favorite parts of his day, after reading Duncan bedtime stories of course. All of this buzzed through his mind before he remembered to respond to the door’s knock.

 

“Come in,” he said, his voice slightly constrained with annoyance.When Alistair raised his head he saw Commander Harion’s youthful face etched with concern, panic began creeping through Alistair’s veins.  “What… what’s wrong?”

  
  


“We’ve just received news from Kirkwall.  The Chantry there was blown up by an apostate. The word is that the Circles are going to vote to disband, and the Templars are seeking the right of Annulment.” Harion spoke, his voice cracked.

 

“I must go to Kinloch immediately.” Alistair said in a rush as he jumped to his feet. His heart pounded as he panicked thinking about his daughter, Chaska.  She would be at risk, vulnerable if the Circles decided to disband. He would not see her come to harm. He was her father, though she did not know it. He had a responsibility to her.  More, he loved her, and it was love and fear for her that drove him to act.

 

Harion swallowed, “Your Majesty, there’s more.”

 

Alistair found himself unable to breathe, “What?” 

 

Tears traced down Commander Harion’s face. “We’ve received our first news out of Weisshaupt in a year.” Harion cleared his throat. “Sir, Ilyana Surana is dead. A mage was possessed by a demon and killed half of the Wardens there. It was said that she was among the casualties.”

 

Alistair stood in complete stillness for a moment. He felt the blood drain from his face and his heartbeat quicken. His mouth filled with acid as he became nauseous. He tightened his fists to maintain his regal countenance. He swallowed to keep the shock from overtaking him while internally he screamed in panic. Despite his inner maelstrom he said “Thank you, Commander, you’re dismissed.” 

 

Commander Harion departed quickly, leaving Alistair alone in his study. Alistair slammed a fist onto his desk as he sobbed, crying as if his chest had been wrenched open. He hastily reached into his desk drawer where he’d stashed Ilyana’s glove a year before and clutched it to his face. The faint scent of frankincense, vanilla and roses, left behind by her hand still clung to the leather. As Alistair inhaled the essence as if she were in the room with him. It was comforting and excruciating, how could he breathe in her scent if she was gone? A cruel joke of the Maker. He slammed his white clenched fist on the oak desk. 

 

“Why did you have to go?” he asked the empty room, voice breaking.  Oh Maker, she was gone. Gone and so much he hadn’t been able to say.  All that he had longed to say to her, stifled because of  _ duty, _ never to be given voice now.  

 

_ “Really? I was pretty sure we’d said everything that needed saying.” Alistair looked to the dirt ground, he couldn’t look Ilyana in the eyes. The dark violet eyes that only days before brought him comfort and filled him with confidence and love. _

 

_ “Can you really end it? Just like that?” Ilyana’s voice cracked as hands fell to her sides open and desperate. _

 

_ “You think it was easy for me? It’s not.” Alistair paced a moment. “I love you, I’ll always love you, but there are things that are more important than what I want, I wish it were otherwise.” Alistair said, his voice soft with remorse.  _

 

_ Ilyana grabbed one of Alistair’s hands and begged, “It doesn’t have to be like that.” Tears streamed down her face and her chin trembled. _

 

_ Alistair yanked his hand away. “We have a job to do, so please.  Let’s just focus on that. Thinking about you is just too painful and too… much.”  Tempting, he had been about to say. Too close, too real, and if he lingered, he did not think he could walk away.  He knew he could not. _

_ Ilyana turned from Alistair and retreated to her tent. The muffled sounds of her sobs broke Alistair’s heart even further. As she turned he extended a hand reaching into the air for a moment. He stormed off to his own tent, regret ike dirty metal in his mouth. His broken heart left an emptiness in his chest that he knew would never be healed.  Not truely. And he only had himself to blame. _

 

After a few hours Alistair finally calmed himself, straightened his tunic and fastened his cloak as the night’s chill began to set in. He swiftly journeyed through the Royal Apartments in search of his wife, Queen Blythe. He eventually found her in their bedroom sitting at her vanity as while she gently brushed her long fair curls. When she spotted her husband’s reflection, she set down the silver handled comb and rushed to him.

 

“You missed dinner, what’s wrong?” Blythe asked taking Alistair’s hands in hers.

 

“There’s been news… Ilyana is dead, the Circles are likely to rebel after an apostate blew up the Chantry in Kirkwall.” He paused for a moment, “I’d like your blessing to help me find a safe place for Chaska, out of harm’s way.” Alistair’s did his best to remain calm, but the ruddiness of his cheeks and red puffy eyes gave his inner turmoil away.

 

It was clear to Blythe what must be done, she saw how disciplined her husband was and that he refrained from suggesting that they brought his daughter to the palace. She gently smiled and extended her hand across Alistair’s cheek, holding his face tenderly. “My King, you should bring her here. It is the safest place in all of Thedas for her, and we both know it.”

 

A heartbroken smile spread across Alistair’s face as he pulled Blythe close in a tight embrace. He kissed the top of her head as he held her. “Thank you, my love.” 

 

Later that night, while Blythe slept beside Alistair, resting her head on his chest, he laid awake staring at the canopy. The pain wasn’t as fresh as it was hours before he began to look objectively at his life. He thought to himself, “It’s true that he and Blythe had a few rough patches, but… Ilyana’s gone, though I’ll grieve, and yes I’ll grieve… I’ll always love Ilyana but I can’t spend my life pining for an impossible future, I can’t hold on to someone who’s dead while Blythe’s here. She’s a good mother, a devoted and kind wife. She’s strong, so incredibly strong, we’ll be okay… together we can be a family.” The thought of a family warmed his shattered heart.

  
  


***

Ten days clear of Weisshaupt Ilyana Surana set herself a picnic of stolen bread, wine, cheese and pickled vegetables on a sturdy wool blanket she’d taken from a wealthy trader’s carriage. She slowly began feeling like herself again. 

 

“Time for a little reward, don’t you think?” Ilyana said to herself, feeling accomplished after writing a letter to Chaska and sending a raven to Kinloch hold. In the correspondence there were copious apologies for not being allowed to make contact sooner and remorse for not being able to return home right away with a little drawing of a dragon so Chaska knew it was from her mother.

 

After taking a sip of wine and a mouthful of bread, she pulled the ancient text she rescued from Weisshaupt prison from her bag. She set the book in front of her as she laid on her belly propped up by her elbows and opened the cover. “Okay, tome, it’s time to spill your secrets and see if you really can lead me to the cure.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	6. Hope Beyond Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> King Alistair goes to Kinloch to retrieve his daughter Chaska after receiving the news Ilyana has died and the Chantry in Kirkwall was destroyed by an Apostate. 
> 
> Ilyana searches for the Cure to the Calling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’d like to take a moment to thank Zinjadu for her tireless efforts as my beta and editor. I’m lucky and grateful to be working with such a wonderful creator!

 

“Alistair,” Chaska began. She was perched in front of the Ferelden King on his horse as they travelled from Kinloch Circle to Denerim, “Do you think I could someday become a dragon?”

 

Wrapping an arm around Chaska while the free hand held the horse’s reins, “That depends, was your mother a dragon?”

 

Chaska shrugged, “I don’t think so. You knew her! Was she ever a dragon?”

 

Gently, he tickled Chaska’s belly for a moment. She squealed as she giggled, he used his long arms to ensure she wouldn’t fall off the horse. “Nope, I never saw her become a dragon, but we slayed a couple, your mother and I, during the Fifth Blight.”

 

She let out a long disappointed sigh, “No one ever slays a dragon around me.”

 

Alistair laughed for a moment, “The day is still young.”

 

“Have you ever battled werewolves?” Chaska asked.

 

“Yes, and I helped your mother broker peace between the Dalish elves and the werewolves.” Alistair slowed the horse’s pace.

 

Chaska made a face, “That’s neat. Um… I don’t mean to be rude or anything, but if you helped my mom do all these things, why isn’t she King?”

 

Alistair held Chaska tightly for a moment then kissed the top of her forehead. “Because a bunch of old Banns and Arls decided I should be King, also I was a prince first, and that’s a pretty important step. You mom was a Circle Mage, and an elf, which means that old Banns and Arls wouldn’t accept her no matter what good she did in the world. They couldn’t see past they’re old fashioned beliefs,” Alistair sighed, “And at the time, neither could I.”

 

Later that day they finally reached Denerim. Before they reached the city, they were met with a group of templars who’d created a Mage Checkpoint on the road. Unsatisfied with the answer, “It’s the King, disband and move on,” an altercation erupted between the two parties, Alistair defended his daughter with his sword and shield. He felt alive with the sweat blood. 

 

The small band of Templars didn’t stand a chance against the royal escort or the King himself, still a formidable warrior. Chaska was equally terrified and impressed. She’d never seen a battle that wasn’t only mages training. She’d snuck in to see a few Harrowings, and not all of them were successes, but this was the first time she’d seen open combat. 

 

After the battle, Alistair ran to Chaska checking if she was all right. He held her tightly for a few minutes. He set her back on his horse and held her tightly.

 

“Alistair… I’m scared.” Chaska said in a soft voice looking up at the giant castle in Denerim. In the last two weeks she’d left the Circle seen more of the world than she ever had before.

 

Alistair wrapped his arms around Chaska, holding her tightly, she sat in front of him on the horse. It was also her first excursion on horseback. “It’s going to be fine, I promise. I will always protect you.”

 

The blaring horns trumpeting the King’s  return was louder than anything Chaska had ever heard before, she covered her ears as Alistair hopped off his mount and picked her up and setting Chaska on the ground. 

 

In awe of the sheer magnitude of the palace, Chaska’s eyes darted about in an attempt to take it all in. The stone, the gold, the tapestries, was far more ornate than the Circle tower. 

 

Alistair took her hand and lead her inside to the throne room. Upon their entrance a five year old boy ran across the floor squealing the word, “Daddy!” as he leapt up into Alistair’s arms.

 

Gently, Alistair set Prince Duncan down after showering him in kisses. Alistair dropped to a single knee and placed a hand on Chaska’s upper back while placing his other hand on Duncan’s shoulder. 

 

Alistair began, “Duncan, I want you to meet Chaska. She will be-”

 

Before Alistair could finish his sentence, Blythe abruptly interrupted him, “Your sister.” 

 

Alistair looked up to see his fair wife and queen. Blythe could be mistaken for a statue of Andraste, sheathed in golden fabric with the morning sun illuminating her golden ringlets. She leaned down and extended a hand. 

 

In a musical and soft voice she said “My name is Blythe, I’m the Queen of Ferelden. Welcome to our home.”

 

Chaska’s eyes darted around the room, overwhelmed, she took a moment to center herself before smiling at the news. “Thank you, ma’am!” 

 

Just a week and half before Alistair arrived at the Circle, the way he routinely had every other month, but this time his face was serious. He brought some gifts as usual and greeted Chaska with hugs and kisses, but immediately pulled Wynne aside for a private conversation. Chaska pressed her ear to the door, but couldn’t hear anything but loud voices talking sternly to each other. 

Alistair took her to the Kinloch garden, where they spent many of his visits, but this time he sat on the short stone wall that circled their favorite cherry tree. It was early spring so the blossoms were beginning to open, specks of pink across brown bows.

 

Chaska took a seat beside him, “So… what is it? You can always tell when adults want to tell you things because they get serious. Just tell me, okay?” She insisted.

 

Alistair hopped down and kneeled before her. “Chaska, I’m sorry but I have something I have to tell you.” He swallowed to keep his eyes from watering, but they were becoming puffy and red despite his efforts.

 

“Your mother is no longer with us, she died at Weisshaupt Fortress.” His lip quivered as he delivered the news.

 

Chaska shook her head in disbelief, tears flowing from her eyes. “No, no, no, no! That’s not possible, she saves everyone. That’s what she does. She fixes things. She’s the strongest mage in Ferelden!”

 

Alistair wrapped Chaska up in a tight embrace. Together they cried. She screamed for her mother through her tears, Alistair held her tighter. After a long moment he held Chaska in front of him.

 

“You can come stay with me, my wife and my son at our home. Our home will be your home. Would you like that?” Alistair wiped Chaska’s tears from her cheeks with his thumb.

 

She nodded and leaped back into his arms. She knew he was right, that her mom wouldn’t be coming back, she was afraid to leave Wynne, but she always felt safe in Alistair’s arms.

 

There she was, two weeks later, an entirely new life standing in her new home with surrounded by strangers. When she shook herself from her memory she looked at Duncan and smiled. He looked like a small Alistair with the farest hair she’d ever seen.

 

Duncan skipped over and enthusiastically took Chaska’s hand, “Come this way!” he said. 

 

***

 

Ilyana had already spent a few weeks in the Deep Roads with only an ancient map from a crumbling tome written in a form of  Elvhen that she could barely read. From what she could tell, she had less than a week to go before she reached the surface again. 

 

She carried a pack heavy with food and water. Skirmish after skirmish with darkspawn wore her down, and Ilyana wished to be out of the Deep Roads and longed to see the sky again. The prospect of more darkness and unending darkspawn ahead loomed large in her mind, turning her stomach and making her long for anywhere that wasn’t the Deep Roads.  Save perhaps the dungeon at Weisshaupt. With that cheerful thought to keep her warm, she pressed on, knowing she had come too far to turn back. 

 

After an uncharacteristic ten hours of trekking the subterranean roads without a single disturbance, a soft pale light glowed dimly in the distance. Ilyana guessed whatever was creating the light was distant due to its dimness. She cautiously headed toward the light hoping it would be the door to the rest of the Dark Roads.

 

Hours later, she finally began to get closer to the source of the eerie glow. It was a mirror, taller than her and not much wider than a door, and now that she stood in front of it, she could see the colors that swirled across its surface, like a slick of oil on water.  Cautiously Ilyana approached the glowing mirror until she was but a hand’s breadth away, and she could feel the magic in it, coming from it. She opened her guiding book, and the maps indicated a door, but there was only the mirror in front of her. 

 

“Where’s this fucking door! There should be a door here!” Ilyana cursed while she looked for a way around the mirror, but a cave in blocked the way forward.Ilyana held her hand up to the glowing glass mirror, took a breath of hesitation and extended her hand to touch the surface but shocked her when her hand went through it. Ilyana took a large gulp of air, looked back one last time and jumped into the mirror.

 

***

A month after Chaska had moved in with the Theirin family, she and Duncan were playing in the Denerim Palace Gardens. Alistair was practicing hand to hand with Commander Harion in the courtyard while the children discovered the rose bushes.

 

“It must’ve been cool to grow up in the Circle, to be around all that magic! It’s amazing it didn’t rub off on you.” Duncan mused while he clipped roses that were hidden and beneath leaves and branches.

 

Chaska shrugged, “I don’t think that’s how magic works… anyway, I wouldn’t have been allowed to leave with your dad if I had magic.”

 

Duncan looked up from his project, he’d moved on to clipping strands of vines. “Well, I’m glad you don’t have magic then. It’s been great to have you around! You have all these great ideas!”

 

“Your mom didn’t think using pillows to slide down the grand stairwell was a great idea.” Chaska smirked.

 

Duncan shrugged, “She missed out. I’m pretty sure you forget to have fun when you become a parent.”

Chaska nodded in agreement. 

 

Duncan began gathering some tiny flowers like baby’s breath, “How was it seeing Dad in battle? You’re lucky to have seen him.”

 

“Oh! It was scary. They weren’t like the Templars at the Kinloch. Your dad was so heroic, he slashed and lunged and did all the stuff that made it look like a dance. I hope I can do that stuff someday.” Chaska reenacted the battle with a the stick she held in her hand.

 

“Okay, close your eyes!” Duncan held is hands behind his back.

 

Chaska nodded and closed her eyes tightly. Duncan had made a flower crown of roses, vines and other flowers and placed it on Chaska’s head. 

 

“I declare you, Chaska, Princess of all Kinloch and my best friend. What do you think?” Duncan smiled standing proud of his craftsmanship.

 

Chaska hurried to the pond to look at her reflection in the in the water. “Oh! Duncan, I love it! You’re the best!” She gave Duncan a hug, being two years his senior, she was still taller than him, even if her elven heritage kept her small.

 

Duncan grabbed Chaska’s hand, “Come on! Let’s go show Dad and Harion!”

 

The two children skipped over to Alistair and Harion, they were sparring. Harion swung out a leg and Alistair found himself on the floor. They both began to laugh.

 

“All right, Commander. You win, this time.” Alistair chuckled.

 

Harion extended a hand and pulled Alistair back to his feet. “You put up a good fight, old man.” 

Alistair rubbed his lower back which was sore from landing on it. “Wait a minute. You’re only four years younger than me.”

 

With a hard pat on Alistair’s back, Harion took his leave shouting, “That still makes you the old man!”

 

Alistair looked up at his children who’d seen the end of the match giggling like little heathen fairies. Chaska was hiding behind Duncan. Alistair cocked his head the side, puzzled.

 

Duncan cleared his throat. “Father, I present to you, Princess Chaska of Kinloch!”

 

Chaska jumped out from behind Duncan triumphantly with her arms in the air. Her hair was swept around her shoulder with a rose crown adorning her head. The red of the roses contrasted against her dark brown hair and fair skin. 

 

Upon seeing Chaska in the rose crown, Alistair’s heart skipped a beat and he felt as if the wind was just been knocked from his chest. When he looked at Chaska, he swore he saw Ilyana for a moment. 

 

Breathlessly Alistair, said, “You look beautiful, my dear.” A few tears fell from Alistair’s face. 

 

Duncan, concerned he’d done something wrong, “Dad… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

 

Chaska stood petrified, she was lost and confused and didn’t understand why he was crying. 

 

Alistair shook his head and pulled both children in for a tight hug. He kissed them both on tops of their heads. “No, I’m sorry, children. You’re wonderful and perfect and I’m so lucky to have you in my life.”

 

For a moment Alistair held his children praying that they would never have to feel the dark quiet sadness that took up residence in his heart since he received the news that Ilyana Surana had died. He promised himself that if he could ever be fortunate enough to go back in time and change things he would. It wasn’t that he didn’t love his life, he did, but now he was overwhelmed with the guilt that he’d sent his first love to her death when he separated from eight years before. Alistair had learned to live with a lot decisions, good and bad. However, he’d been haunted by that one decision since he made it, and knew he would continue to endure the pain of losing Ilyana for the rest of his life.


	7. Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ilyana Surana discovers what’s on the other side of the mirror in the Deep Roads while Chaska adjusts to life in the Castle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick thank you goes out to my beta and editor Zinjadu. This series wouldn’t happen without your support and encouragement. 
> 
> She has a page here, please take some time to read her works, they’re great!

Surana 7

 

Questions

 

Ilyana burst from the other side of the mirror onto battlements above ground. The sudden, blinding light of the sun caused her to fall to her knees. The shadow cast by the shield slung across her back gave her a moment for her eyes to adjust from the dark of the Deep Roads to the bright of wherever she was now. Cautiously she rose to her feet using one of her arms as a visor. 

 

It was clear she was on top of some sort of tower on what appeared to be a tiny island or peninsula. The hot and salty air was tempered by the cold wind. As she slowly turned around to take in her surroundings she noticed a door leading into the bowels of the tower. She approached the tower entrance and before pulling the latch she thought dryly about how one normally you enter buildings from the bottom. That normal also did not include arriving at new places via mirrors was beside the point.  

 

Sword drawn with shield in her hand, she slowly descended the stairs. The giant spiral staircase circled around the tower three times before Ilyana reached a landing. Carefully she opened the door. She jumped a few inches in the air when she saw the ancient elf sitting cross legged in the center of the room.

 

“It’s rude to greet a fellow scholar with a sword drawn readied for battle,” the ancient elf said. He had no beard, but his long silver hair cascaded around him in tiny fizzy ringlets. His robes were woven into an unfamiliar pattern on a type of fabric she had never seen. It was shiny and dull at the same time, coruscating in hues of blue and green as the light changed, like the scales of a fish. 

 

Ilyana sheathed her blade and racked her shield. “I apologise… Could you tell me where I am?”

 

The elf kept his eyes sealed shut. “Definitely not.”

 

Perplexed, Ilyana’s face puckered. “Okay, then. Who are you? Can you tell me that?”

 

“I could tell you… were I so inclined.” He replied.

 

“Great.” Ilyana, already a little annoyed, folded her arms across her chest. “I’m looking for a castle called Ghilisenatha.”

 

The elf began to laugh. He covered his mouth as his eyes fluttered open. Ilyana was taken aback by the glowing lyrium blue irises of the old elf’s eyes. The lines of age carved into his face were accentuated by the radiating light. “There is no such place as Ghilisenatha.”

 

“How do you know? I have a book right here that says such a place exists.  I was on my way there from the Deep Roads, but I’m here because my way was blocked by some sort of mirror that I travelled through.” Ilyana rebutled. 

 

The old elf slowly rose to his feet and with surprising grace walked to Ilyana. He placed a fist over his heart as he bowed. “You may call me Ghilisenatha. It’s my name, not the name of this castle. Let me see this text you speak of.” He extended an open palm.

 

“Ilyana Surana…” She replied cautiously as she dug out the book from the bottom of her bag. The leather binding was disintegrating, little flecks stuck to her fingers as she handed him the book.

 

Ghilisenatha examined the tome and flipped through the pages making a disapproving “harumpf” sound. “Do you mind?” 

 

Ilyana raised her eyebrows. “Do I mind what?”

 

The old elf shook his head. “Nevermind. I’ll handle it.” He waved his free hand over the book while muttering a few words of magic. White wisps of light swirled around the book before crashing into the aging cover.

 

Ilyana’s eyes grew wide in horror, “What are you doing? I need that!” She reached out to grab the book from the old elf but held it away from here.

 

“One moment.” He returned it to Ilyana, but it appeared to be new and fresh as the day it was made. The leather was moist and supple, as she flipped through the pages to see the ink restored and legible.

 

“How did you… Ghilisenatha...”

 

“Ghilis is acceptable.”

 

She paused marvelling at the results of his magic to study Ghilis himself. “Thank you, Ghilis… how did you do that?”

 

“I wrote it, did I not? I see my text has fared poorly over the millennia,  so I put it back together. Entire chapters were missing! Though, I am not sure why you want it.  It was a rather dry read. My subsequent works are far more riveting.” Ghilis chuckled to himself. 

 

Ilyana wasn’t sure but she swore when he repaired the book he gained an extra wrinkle across the side of his face.

 

He began crossing the room to a humble altar. He began to light candles with the tip of his finger. “What brought you to my eluvian in the Deep Roads? Surely, book repair is not what brought you here.”

 

“No… I seek the cure for the Calling.” Ilyana took a few cautious steps forward. “I’m a Grey Warden…”

 

“It’s quite obvious, isn’t it? You Wardens reek of what you call taint and Old Gods… silly thing to call them.” He shrugged as he walked toward the descending stairwell. “Follow, child.”

 

Ilyana did as he asked and followed him down the stairs into the largest library she’d ever seen, there were laboratories to craft potions, tables to write upon with stacks of blank parchment. Glowing wisp lights slowly floated about. There was even a corner with an easel and paints.

 

“The answer for what you’re looking for, is in here, somewhere. I wish I could be more helpful, but unfortunately I’m a bit disorganized lately. Meals are served at six in the morning and eight in the evening. If you need more there’s good fishing.” Seeing Ilyana open her mouth for a question be continued, “I don’t keep ravens, so no you may not send word to anyone about where you are, you can also not take anything with you but your own knowledge when you leave. There are couches about this library for sleeping, if you indulge in such activities…”

 

“Thank you, Ghilis” Ilyana marvelled at the decadence of the library. The floor to ceiling bookshelves over stuffed with possibly everything that’s ever been written in Thedas. 

 

“It’s been  _ ages _ since I had a real visitor. Most who attempt to visit me don’t survive the Deep Roads to my Eluvian… it’s nice to see One of the People, even if you’re,” He studied Ilyana for a breath,  “barely one of us at this state. Maybe while you’re here you’ll read my book on extended Elvhen grammer and we can speak in a more civilized tongue.” He patted Ilyana on the head before disappearing behind a bookshelf.

 

Ilyana set her bag, sword and shield down on a chaise and began the daunting task of finding some text that has to do with the Cure.

 

***

Dear Dagna,

 

How are you liking Skyhold? I hear it’s very old and special. Dad says Duncan and I can come visit sometime. Do you miss Kinloch? I do.

 

I guess it’s silly to say because now I live in a much nicer place, and there’s other kids around and I get to be with my new family. I have a brother, Duncan, and I think he’s great. Someday he’s going to become King of Ferelden and that’s pretty special. 

 

Every day I have lessons with tutors and teachers and I’m getting good at numbers, reading and history. For an hour a day Dad and I train together, he says it’s never too soon to start to train if I want to be a Seeker someday. I guess there aren’t really templars anymore… so I don’t want to be that. Not really. I’m only nine, I don’t have to choose, yet. That’s what Blythe says.

 

Blythe’s good, though I think she’s pretty sad sometimes, and I feel like it’s my fault. Dad too. Six months ago, Duncan made me a flower crown of roses and Dad said I was too beautiful and cried. It was weird, and Duncan thought he was in trouble.  He wasn’t though. 

 

Uncle Harion visits often. We ride horses once a week. He says hello.

 

I don’t know who to talk to about this, but since you’re my oldest friend, I think it’s supposed to be you. I really miss Momma. I know she was never there, and that was sad, but it’s hard to think that she’s really gone. Do you think she’s with Wynne and Andraste? Momma was so good at fixing things, maybe she’s convincing the Maker to come back. 

 

I like my life here at the Castle, it’s been a good year and a half. We’re gonna be spending the next summer on Rowan Island. Dad’s excited they just fixed up the castle there. Everything’s really good, I just miss you and Wynne and Momma. Hopefully I can visit you soon!

 

Love,

Chaska 

 

P.S. Please convince Dad that it’s safe enough so Duncan and I can visit. 

 

P.P.S. Are there any spare mabaris at The Inquisition and can I have one? 

 

***

Chaska folded the letter and sealed the envelope. She took off her slippers and pulled her boots and cloak on. With the letter in hand she walked down the hall to her father’s private study.  She called him  _ dad _ , like Duncan did, and at first she had thought that was because she was adopted.  Then she noticed that Blythe never asked to be called  _ mom _ , and maybe that had been because she knew that Chaska already had a mom, but didn’t have a dad.  The servants, though, said different. Said that Alistair  _ was _ her dad.  For  _ real _ . They whispered stories of when before Alistair was King they were with him and the Hero of Ferelden at Arl Eamon's estate. She didn’t know if they were right or not, and she thought maybe she should ask.  She had always been able to ask at the Circle. Any question, and she’d at least be guided on how to find an answer.

 

But what if he didn’t answer?  Or she had asked the wrong thing?  Though she would never know  _ unless _ she asked.  Those thoughts circling her head,she knocked on the door. Alistair, who was buried in documents, lifted his gaze from the pile of papers on his desk and up at his daughter.

 

“What can I do for you, darling?” Alistair asked as he stepped away from his desk.

 

“I want to send this letter to Dagna, the Arcanist at Skyhold.” Chaska extended the envelope to her father.

 

Gently he took the envelope and placed it on top of his stack of documents. “Of course, sweetheart. It’s difficult to be far from your friends, isn’t it?” He leaned against his oak desk.

 

After moving the pen quill and inkwell to the edge of the desk, Chaska lifted herself to a seat on the desk. She swung her legs looking down at her toes. “Yeah…”

 

Alistair took a seat beside her and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “I miss my friends too.”

 

Chaska looked up to father’s hazel eyes. “Like, Momma? Wait… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t’ve said anything.”

 

Alistair shook his head. “It’s okay, and yes, like your Momma.” They sat together in silence for a few minutes. Chaska’s mind races a mile a minute as she felt she was going to burst if she didn’t finally ask Alistair the  _ question _ .

 

“Um… Dad, can I ask you a something?” Chaska returned her gaze to her swinging feet.

 

“Of course, pumpkin.” 

 

“You really are my dad, aren’t you? You’re my dad  _ dad _ . That’s why you came to save me…Wynne said so before I left.” Chaska’s cheeks flushed as she continued to distract herself with her feet.

 

“That’s not important, Blythe and I love you. That’s what matters.” He calmly replied, though his heart raced and fretted inside while he squeezed her shoulder.

 

“I know that… but I want to know because I’m old enough to know.” Chaska looked up at her father to emphasize the point.

 

Alistair hopped down from the desk and knelt before Chaska. “Yes. I’m your  _ dad _ dad.”

 

Chaska’s brows furrowed, “But then… nevermind.” She let out a loud sigh of exasperation. “I know things get ‘complicated’ for adults.” 

 

“Yeah, things are more complicated.” The truth of her comment wounded Alistair. He rose to his feet.

 

“Um, why didn’t you visit me when I was little?” Chaska asked. She gripped the edge of the table for leverage to jump down. This question made her far more nervous than the first one. She wanted to know why her Dad didn’t come see her, like Mom did.

 

“You still are little.” He asserted while picking her up from under her arms and setting her feet on the ground. He dodged the question, he didn’t want to face the parade of guilt in his heart.

 

Chaska folded her arms across her chest defiantly. “You  _ know _ what I mean."

 

Alistair face was flushed with color and his heart ached “Because,” he rolled his eyes at himself, “Your mom never told me.”

 

Confused she asked, “Why wouldn’t she tell you?”

 

“Because,  she was mad at me. I said mean things months before you were born and we stopped talking for a while. It’s why we don’t say hurtful things we don’t really mean.” Alistair attempted to turn the conversation around. He didn’t want his frustration to show. How could Ilyana have kept something as important as their daughter from him? He knew the answer, he remember everything he said. He cursed himself for being so young and impetuous. 

 

“Obviously, Dad. How did you not know this?” Chaska exasperatedly asked. She didn’t understand why adults always forgot the Golden Rule, Wynne has hammered it into her from her earliest memories. She wanted to know what her dad had said to her mom so many years go that would make her keep secrets.

 

The truth of Chaska’s words stung, along with the reality of his. Chaska was right, and no matter how much he cursed Ilyana’s ghost, he always reminded himself that he understood why she did what she did. Ilyana was protecting him, the same way she always had. He searched for a way to steer the course of the conversation. He smiled as he snatched Chaska’s small hand. 

 

“Come on, let’s go beg Cook Karinna for some cookies.”

 

***

Ghilis took his morning stroll through his magnificent library. It was mid afternoon and he thought it best to check on his tower’s new resident, since she unusually missed breakfast. He found Ilyana asleep sitting at a giant mahogany table strewn with books, all open to different subjects, her head was cradled by her arms resting on “Cleansing Runes: A Treatise.”

 

He leaned down and whispered into her ear, “Please don’t drool on the texts.”   
  


Ilyana jolted awake, startled. “I’m awake!” 

 

Ghilis patted Ilyana on the back, “Don’t burn the candle at both ends, young scholar.” He placed a small plate of seaweed and crab stuffed steamed bread beside Ilyana and began to walk away.

 

She shook off the sleep, “Wait, Ghilis, please. I need help finding the correct tome. I’ve been searching for a year already. I can now speak and read multiple forms of Elvhen, Tavene, Antivan, Rivainni and Dwarven. I know how to identify four-hundred different varieties of elfroot, how to craft runes and how to distill lyrium into a more potent and stable ingestible material. I now know how to make phylacteries and how to create a healing potion that can bring you back from an inch of death, though in the recipe it states it could kill the person who takes it if their threshold for pain isn’t high enough. I know fifty different winter spells, rain spells, and spells for bumper harvests. I can change shape into anything I desire and now know twenty different nug soup recipes and none of this has helped me get any closer to a cure.” Ilyana’s arms fell to her side in defeat.

 

Ghilis began to cackle. “Oh, but it has,” he paused to continue his chuckle. “You’ll find the book you’re looking for.” He walked to one of the book lined walls and after a short moment of deliberation he pulled one out and handed it to Ilyana. 

 

“Now, that you’ve done the appropriate preparations,you’ll be able to make sense of it.”

 

Ilyana snatched the text and began flipping the pages. “It’s in a Tavene code using Elvhen.”

 

Ghilis patted Ilyana on the head before departing to another end of the library. “I hope you paid attention to what you’ve learned.” His voice drowned in the thunder of waves slamming into the island’s shore.

 

***

 

Queen Blythe and Chaska spent the better part of the day folding thin decorative paper into animals. Chaska wanted to create a sculpture with all the animals she knew. 

 

“You know you’re quite the talented young lady, Chaska.  That’s good, for when you want to get married. It’s best to be able to bring your own talents to a partnership.. ?” Blythe said finishing the beak fold of a Northern Macaw.

 

“I’m half elf! I’m not the marrying type. I want to be a Seeker, like the lady from The Inquisition. It’s like being a templar, but  _ better, _ ” Chaska replied with unshakable certainty.

 

“But that's such a dangerous job, and many people can do that.  It takes someone special to be a bann or arl, and not just blood.  Someone kind and clever, like you.” Blythe smiles at the small girl.

 

“But someone has to do it, be the person on the wall.” Chaska looked up at Blythe with her large hazel eyes.

 

Gently she patted Chaska’s back, she felt immensely proud of Chaska’s devout nature. “It’s noble how much you want do more for everyone. It makes me very proud, sweetheart. But do me one small favor?  Keep in mind there are different kinds of good you can do from many different roles in society.”

 

“Thank you, mom.” Chaska said it without thinking of her words. When she realized what she’d said she stood paralyzed for a moment. The word slipped out, but it felt natural. This made her confused and unsure. Fear crept into her chest, what if she’d just insulted her?

 

Blythe was without words. Tears welled in her eyes and she dropped the paper dragon and hugged Chaska tightly. Never in a thousand years did she think Chaska would call her Mom but hearing the word filled Blythe with overwhelming joy. She knew at that moment she finally had the daughter she always dreamed of, a complete home. 

 

***

Queen Blythe spent the first half the night lying wide awake, unable to sleep. An idea had possessed her and she couldn’t stop think about it. She tossed, she turned and back over again.

 

When Alistair couldn’t take anymore he erupted, “What? What is it? What’s wrong. Please, please tell me so we can go back to sleep.” He rolled onto his side facing her propping himself up on his elbows.

 

Blythe rolled over. “Okay, I have an idea. You’ll love it.”

 

Alistair raised his eyebrows, “Okay?”

 

“We should adopt Chaska, formally.” She blurted out. Saying the words aloud filled her with joy, Alistair could see the dimples from her radiating smile.

 

Alistair laid there with his mouth agape. “Yes… we should. How do we explain…” He propped himself up on his elbows.

 

Excited Blythe interrupted her husband. “We do it as a public initiative to promote adoption of children orphaned by the Blight and Mage Templar War. No one will think twice about who her parents really are, and it may get the rest of Ferelden nobility on board to help do something about the sheer amount of orphans these wars have created.” She felt a deep love for Chaska grow across the year and didn’t care she didn’t birth her, Chaska was her family and she was prepared to move mountains so the Kingdom would know.

 

Never did Alistair feel more love for Blythe than in that moment. He leaned over and kissed her deeply. The depth of Blythe’s humanity surprised him once more. Their wonderful son gets the sister he always wanted, Blythe and he are finally able to embrace his daughter as their child. He felt like he was finally doing more than his father ever did for him, he never wanted Chaska to endure living in stranger's houses and being shipped off to the Chantry because she was inconvenient. No, Chaska belonged in Denerim castle with his wife with the biggest heart he’d ever known and their son. They would be the family he never had. He promised himself that Chaska, Duncan and Blythe would never be alone in the world. 

 

“How did I get so lucky to find a woman, a partner, as wonderful and beautiful as you? The Maker took extra time with you, I swear.” Alistair whispered into Blythe’s ear before showering her in kisses, each more passionate and tender as the preceding kiss. The rapture of love consumed them.


	8. In Peace, Vigilance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair and family celebrate Chaska’s birthday while Ilyana explores the library at the edge of Thedas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you goes out to Zinjadu for being my patient beta and editor. You’re the best.

 

Finally the moment Alistair, and Blythe had patiently waited all evening for arrived. Alistair’s heart was full and his cheeks ached from the day spent smiling. He was truly enthralled with the occasion.

 

“Chaska take a seat.” Alistair said to the newly ten year old girl, joy radiating from his grin. “Since it’s your birthday, and you’ve already received most of your presents, I think it’s time you get your last gift.”

 

Chaska sat at the head of the long banquet table with Dunan to her right and Blythe standing her husband wearing  the biggest smile Chaska had ever seen on Blythe’s face. She knew something was going on, she patiently waited to discover what they were scheming. From the inside of one of Blythe’s long draping sleeves she removed a scroll and Alistair completed the hand off giving the scroll to Chaska. 

 

“Read it!” Blythe squealed, her heart raced in anticipation and was scarcely able to physically contain her excitement.

 

Chaska unrolled the parchment and began to consume its contents. Her eyes widened as she read the scroll, and shot to her feet, standing in her chair in surprise.  

 

“You are both… adopting me?” Chaska’s mouth hung agape for a moment. She blinked rapidly to hold back welling tears. Her toes tingled and she felt faint. She couldn’t remember a time when she was more surprised in her entire life. A profound sense of gratefulness consumed her as she realized she once again belonged to someone, somewhere. 

 

Tears of joy streamed down her face as she leapt from her perch and ran to Blythe and Alistair embracing them both in a tight hug. Her parents held her tightly while Duncan let out a loud cheer and and joined in the hug. 

 

“You’re finally really my sister! Nothing can change that.” Duncan said resting his head against Chaska’s.

 

“I love you, my family.” Chaska said, wiping her wet cheeks.

 

Blythe dropped to eye level with her daughter. “You will always have family now, you’re our child.”

 

Alistair dropped a knee so he could also be eye level with Chaska. “Now the whole of Ferelden will know that you’re our daughter.”

 

Chaska erupted into fresh tears of happiness. “Thank you! Thank you Mom, Thank you Dad, and Thank you my new  _ baby  _ brother!” She wrapped her small arms around her father and Blythe and Duncan joined in the joyous embrace. Chaska thought to herself that she was so thankful to be so loved but on the inside her heart ached for Ilyana her mom. She knew no one ever would replace her, but she also knew that dead meant she wouldn’t see her again in this life.

 

The royal family celebrated that evening with extra cake and music. They danced and played until the late night. It was maybe one of the happiest moments Denerim Castle had ever seen.

 

***

 

The sound of pages fluttering from an open book, the wash and thunder of the surf below, the gulls calling each other, the rustle from the fabric drapes billowing from a gust of wind painted her surroundings so clear she could see it with closed eyes. Ilyana sat alone in the center of the library on a lone tufted leather ottoman with her legs crossed and hands resting on her knees.

 

There was something internal and deep Ilyana was searching for. She could feel the tingle of the Veil reminding her of  brushing her hand against the surface of the water. The infinitely small place, between wet and dry. She listened to her breath, then deeper, her heart beat. There, she could  _ feel _ the Taint within her veins. The echoes of the march of millions of darkspawn, then beneath the drums was the  _ song _ . She wanted to understand what it was to truly be carry the Taint, to be a Grey Warden.

 

“What you’re looking for, you won’t find it there,” Ghilisenatha said  interrupting Ilyana’s meditation. He set the beverages in his hands down on the table, scooting a few books out of the way to make room.

 

“Come have some tea,” Ghilis offered while he slowly took a seat. 

 

Ilyana shrugged off the annoyance of having her meditation disturbed while she crossed the room to take a seat at one of the many book covered tables. “Thank you for the tea, Ghilis.”

 

A large smile spread across his dark ancient face. “I appreciate your diligence in your studies. You’ve gone from a half-rate mage to a true practitioner. My last real guest stayed for only a few weeks before they gave up on their quest and returned home.” Ghilis lost himself reminiscing of his last visitor. 

 

Ilyana brought the tea to her lips, she savored the velvet, smokey flavor as she took a drink. “Were they also researching The Cure?” 

 

Ghilis shook his head. “No, he was looking for something else, and the world is probably better for his failure. I only keep the knowledge, I don’t dictate how it’s used. No books leave, or shouldn’t anyway.” He paused, “Well, some I allow into circulation.”

 

Ilyana nodded, “Like the one that lead me here?”

 

A hearty chuckle caused Ghilis to set down his cup. He grabbed his smoking pipe resting on the table, checked the contents and lit it with a tiny flame from the tip of his finger. He began to puff on the pipe, smoke exhaled through his nostrils like a dragon. 

 

“You don’t get bored or tired here on the edge of, wherever we are. The island is small, there’s no land in sight, it’s just you and your books.” Ilyana asked.

 

Ghilis shrugged and offered Ilyana the pipe. “Well of course, but I came out here a long time time before man descended on Thedas. Much has happened since then, and it’s been exciting reading everything that’s being written. The elves of today and humans are far more prolific. Probably due to the tragically short lifespans.” He chuckled to himself while rolling up his blue iridescent sleeves.  The smoke was robust with citrus notes in Ilyana’s mouth. 

 

“Thanks for reminding me.” She returned the pipe to Ghilis running a thumb over the engraved filigree on the stem.

 

“It’s not your fault, you’re born to who you’re born to. That never changes. Following what drives you, that’s the best way to spend a life that I’ve found. Which leads me to ask, what are you running from?” Ghilis asked.

 

The one question Ilyana had masterfully avoided for a year was finally asked. “Where do we start? And we’ll need something stronger than tea.”

 

“This involves matters of the heart, doesn’t it?” Ghilis nodded with a knowing expression and levitated a bottle of wine from one of the shelves and corked it and poured into the empty mugs before gently setting the bottle on the table without touching it once. 

 

“Is it that obvious?” Ilyana quirked a brow as she raised her cup.

 

Ghilis clinked his mug with hers and took a drink and then a puff on his pipe. “In my experience people who consume knowledge with a most voracious passion is when they’re trying to drown out something else. Maybe it’s only their naivete, but it’s always something.”

 

Ilyana noted the wine was more potent than she was used to. “Well, let’s get right to it, shall we? When I was young I fell in love with my best friend. We were on campaign together, we fought the Fifth Blight and survived. He just so happened to be the sole heir of the Ferelden throne. I helped him negotiate his position, and then he left me.” 

 

“You’re still young, but go on.” Ghilis gestured for her to continue.  

 

“I’m not suitable Queen Regent material, being an elf and mage you know.” Ilyana smirked.

 

Ghilis looked genuinely shocked. “That  _ is _ news to me. In my youth an elf mage was the only choice for a royal bride, but I see things have changed.” He had the bottle float back over and refill their glasses.

 

“Thus I was relegated to the title of Commander of the Ferelden military, and I never told him I was with child, his child. I sent our daughter to be raised by our friends so I could perform my duties without putting his position in jeopardy.” She clenched her jaw and pursed her lips as wave of sadness overwhelmed Ilyana for a moment. In these moments she felt like she was going to be swallowed by regret.

 

“I hated my life, I was stuck in this between place, permanent and lonely. I accepted an invitation from the Grey Wardens, an offer to move up in their ranks.  It sounded like a good idea at the time, a new path, a way out of the place I was stuck in.”

 

Ilyana stared at her mug for a moment. Her chest tightened as she relived the worst moments in Weisshaupt: the stretcher, the whippings, all of the cruelest inventions that were invented to harm a person.

 

After exhaling a long breath she returned to the present. “It was a mistake. I wasn’t welcome in my order and found myself in a prison cell for half a year with daily appointments with torture.”

 

Ghilis patted Ilyana on the hand. “I’m glad you were able to escape from such a terrible place.”

 

She smiled through the ache, “It’s good to have friends. I wouldn’t have survived without her.”

 

He chuckled. “Let me guess, you believe if you can find the Cure you can win your lost love back?”

 

She shook her head, “No, I don’t hold any such delusions. No, the Cure is how we both move on, a life without the song, without the dreams, and with the promise of a longer future. He was my best friend, and his family deserves a full life. Just as mine does.”

 

“Do you want my advice?” Ghilis pointed at her with the mouthpiece on the pipe.

 

“You’re going to tell me no matter how I respond.” Ilyana smirked before she took another drink.

 

“Don’t assume you know everything. You don’t know how this Cure will change you and you don’t know what the future holds. You can never really anticipate what another person will do, no matter how well you know them. You aren’t them. And most importantly, one must take chances and opportunities as they present themselves.” Ghilis said serious and sincere. 

 

“Thank you, Ghilis, I’ll remember your guidance.” Ilyana smiled, she spent her entire life being the one who comforted others it was refreshing to be receiving hope and solace. She hadn’t thought much about her life after the Cure, but for the first time she did have hope and that was enough.

  
  


***

 

The sound of plate armor boots on rug covered stone ripped Ilyana from a deep sleep. She leapt to her feet with a dagger drawn and ready to attack. 

 

When Ilyana’s eyes finally adjusted to being awake, she saw a mountain of a man, armored in a black leather breastplate..  His long, golden hair was worn loose and brushed just past his jaw, which was covered by a short, trimmed beard. His skin was deeply tanned that spoke either to a northern heritage or much time out in the sun.   He held in his hands two mugs of tea.

 

After sizing up the intruder she still stood in a ready stance, “You aren’t Darkspawn.”

 

The giant man, who stood a whole head and shoulders and head again taller than Ilyana grinned. In a thick Antivan accent with a rich deep timber he mused, “Not yet, anyway. I could say the same about you.” 

 

He extended a hand holding a mug, “Ghilis thought you’d want some tea to help wake up.”

 

Narrowing her violet eyes, Ilyana stared at him cautiously.  He rolled his eyes and took a sip from the mug he wasn’t offering. 

 

With reservation Ilyana accepted the cup while her dagger was still trained on the stranger. She smelled the tea and didn’t notice any unusual notes before taking a sip.

 

“You’re probably wondrin’ what a Warden, like yourself, is doing all the way out here on the edge of the world.”  He took a step toward Ilyana. Ilyana took a step back, keeping her distance, but careful not to let him back her against a wall.

 

“Not recruiting, I hope,” she drawled, smirking. “Where’s Ghilis?”   The warden took another step forward and set his mug on the table, carefully pulled out a chair across from Ilyana and slowly took a seat.

 

“He’s visiting an old  _ friend  _ for the day. I bring him things that his  _ friend  _ doesn’t procure and we trade. I get to spend a few days, weeks or months away from the world. We’ve been doing this for a few years now.” He said studying the elven Warden.

 

Ilyana hesitantly returned to the chair she was sleeping in across the table from the stranger. “I’ve been here over a year, how have I not seen you before?”

 

“You were deep in the Fade last time I came through. I wasn’t able to stay as there were pressing matters at hand.”

 

“What Wardens do you travel with? Are you here to take me back to Weisshaupt?” Ilyana took a sip, her eyes trained on the mountainous man across from her.

 

He laughed and extended a hand, “Don’t you think names are in order before one starts inditing the other? Esteven the Purveyor of the Rare and Dangerous. I hail from Antiva, and I left the Wardens not long after I joined them.”

 

Ilyana took his hand in hers, “Ilyana Surana.”

 

Esteven’s pale blue eyes lit up at her name, he drew her hand to his lips and kissed the soft nook between her scarred knuckles.

 

“Breath of the Maker, they said the Hero of Ferelden was one of the most beautiful women to walk this earth, but I find that description doesn’t do justice to truly describe you,” he said, his brown eyes warm.  Very warm. Ilyana’s cheeks flushed a deep scarlet. She felt like a mess, in desperate need of a bath, with her hair was sticking out of its braid, and she bore more scars now than ever before. They sat across from each other at the table for a moment, her hand still in his. After a minute they both became self conscious and withdrew their hands back to their tea cups.

 

“Ghilis says you have the Cure.” He said after drinking more tea.

 

Almost choking as she swallowed her beverage and let out a few coughs. “Oh, eh, well.” She coughed a few more times. “In theory, but I haven’t attempted it, nor do I have the ingredients necessary to try.”

 

Esteven nodded as realization lit up his handsome face. “This must be why Ghilis summoned me. We shall leave tomorrow for Kirkwall. Well, we will leave after the master of this fortress returns.”

 

Her eyes widened. “Um, isn’t this a little sudden?”

 

He brushed his long hair off his shoulder. “Unfortunately, I have a schedule to keep, a loose one, but a schedule. You don’t want to be stuck here in this library forever?” He paused seeing the look on Ilyana’s face.

 

Esteven quickly stood and extended a hand, “So, Hero of Ferelden, have you been given the grand tour, or only been allowed this floor and the beach?” He attently studied his companion, her sudden girlish self consciousness he found endearing.

 

Ilyana stood straightening her tunic. “No, I’ve been allowed the infirmary and kitchen as well.”

 

He made a grunt of disapproval. “Probably because you’re an elf, most visitors are rarely allowed more than the library. He must like you. A few Wardens have come through over the years searching for the cure, but most just get discouraged and return to wherever they came from.” He gestured for her to follow and head for the central staircase for the tower spiraled up through the center of the structure. Esteven lead the way down the prodigious marble stairway. 

 

“What brought you here, Warden Esteven?” Ilyana inquired as she appreciated the rich contrast of the deep blue veins in the white marble of the blocks that made the stairs and walls.

 

“I told you, I obtain artifacts and illusive objects for discerning collectors.” Esteven opened the door to the floor below and held it gesturing for Ilyana to enter first.  The room was filled with marble mannequins showcasing robes, gowns, cloaks and tunics made from the finest fabric Ilyana had ever seen. 

 

“This, my dear, is where our dear host showcases some of his favorite textile acquisitions. I’ve added quite a bit to his collections.” He said grinning at himself as he savored Ilyana’s obvious enjoyment. 

 

“Come, there’s more to see.” He beckoned her to return to the stairwell.   It took Ilyana a few moments before she was ready to stop staring at the majestic wall tapestry. It depicted dragons circling a mountainside castle with an elven couple standing at the tower. She could tell that the dragons were there to protect the fortress and not attack. She returned to Esteven in the stairs a large smile radiating joy affixed across her face.

 

“I’ve never seen anything like the fabric in there. It looked magical, but I didn’t feel magic.” She said grinning. The joy of discovery always enthralled her. 

 

Esteven thoroughly enjoyed his role as tour guide and took her to the Laboratory, together they examined beakers, phylacteries and jars of glowing red and purple, pulsating and some jars with strange tentacled creatures swimming in circles. Esteven watched as Ilyana whipped together a few lyrium and health potions.

 

Before opening the door to the third floor below the library Esteven paused, “Before we go any further, I must warn you to not touch anything in here. Promise?”

 

Ilyana nodded in agreement and Esteven slowly opened the door. The room’s contents left her mouth agape in wonder. Never before had she seen anything like what was before her.  The room was filled with giant gears and clockwork like parts, they churned slowly generating a blue electric current that writhed around a gigantic glass ball on a pedestal.

 

“What,” she spoke breathlessly, “What is that?”

 

Esteven shook his head. “I don’t know and the old man won’t tell me. There’s one more room I wish to show you.” He gently took Ilyana’s hand and she allowed him to hold it. 

 

They descended to the next level below. The room was an impressive art gallery a maze created so there would be enough wall space to hang every piece. Esteven guided Ilyana around the classical marble statues, the landscape paintings, to the far back wall covered in portraits.

 

Ilyana released Esteven’s hand as she began studying the portraits, magic emanated from them, and the figures inside the paintings moved and swayed as if they were standing in person before her. She could feel the magic pulse, like the Eluvian. Upon reading the names below the portraits she realized each painting was a portrait of the Warden who ended the Blight.

 

When Ilyana reached the Fifth portrait, she stood face to face with herself. The dying Archdemon falling in the background, her face youthful, sad, and something else.  Something few might recognize or understand, shadowed and haunted, eyes too deep for her then-young face. Then suddenly the eyes in the painting, flicked to her, and she saw herself  _ seeing  _ herself, and like her hand was on a string, she extended one delicate finger toward the canvas.  Before she could touch the painting she was zapped with an electrical current. She didn’t yelp, she just turned to Esteven.

 

“You already knew who I was, didn’t you?” Ilyana demanded. Her brows knit together as she braved herself for his answer.

 

“I caught sight of the portrait, and then I knew the stories about you had a truth to them.  Not that you were ten feet tall or shot lightning out of your eyes, but that you were the brave, gracious hero they all said you were.  The paintings only capture what's already there, if you couldn't tell. You were the Warden who survived, but I could see a sacrifice in your eyes all the same.  Call me a sentimental fool, but I almost returned to the Order when I first saw it. However, not all Wardens are you, Commander," he said wistfully, a loss of his own in his voice.  Illyana wanted to know what the story was there, but now was neither the time nor the place. There were other questions to ask, besides.

 

“How does he make the paintings,  _ do _ things.” She asked, unsure of the entire situation. She felt the heat from the fires in the deep background of the painting.

 

Esteven shrugged, “Our host is so powerful that makes your magic look amateur and cheap, sorry.” He playfully smirked.

 

Ilyana grinned and laughed. “Well, he does appear to be older than time itself.”

 

Esteven began to laugh, but sounds from above alerted him. He grabbed Ilyana’s arm, “The Eluvian!” 

 

They ran back up the spiraling stairwell to the roof of the tower, where Ilyana had first arrived. There a pack of Darkspawn jumped through before the Eluvian closed itself. One ogre, five genlocks and an emissary roared, hissed and growled at the two Grey Wardens.

 

Neither Ilyana or Esteven were armed, but a mage was never without recourse.  Ilyana cast a freezing spell immobilizing the ogre and emissary. Esteven engaged in hand to hand with a genlock before freeing the ax it wielded from it’s fingers and into his own hands. Ilyana rained down lighting and ice while Esteven hacked his way through the remainder of the genlocks.

 

While she was focused on fighting the emissary and deflecting the darkspawn mage’s spells the ogre developed a keen interest in the small elven woman and grabbed Ilyana. Before he could rip her asunder Esteven leapt into the air swinging the ax down hard severing the ogre’s arm. Ilyana tumbled to the ground and petrified the ogre. Esteven swung the ax around shattering the ogre. 

 

Ilyana and Esteven stood breathing heavily for a moment looking at the Darkspawn corpses at their feet. The eluvian was dark and not engaged. After a few minutes Esteven threw down the ax rushed to Ilyana.  With careful fingers, he traced the tear in her linen tunic, the shallow wounds of darkspawn claws, and she sucked in a hard breath. Those gashes stung, but his touch also wakened something in her that had long been dormant.  A handsome man who looked at her and saw more than a Warden and a Commander. A man who saw a woman.

 

The rush to battle in their blood, she returned his touch, tracing the cuts and abrasions on his bare arms.  She called to the Fade, pulling on her magic, a pulse of healing emanating out from her, but this time it was different.  Her healing normally felt cooling, soothing, but this time it warmed, and the beat of it echoed the thrum of her body.

 

What did she know of this man?  Precious little. What did he know of her?  Only an idealized picture in his head.

 

And yet, he was warm and real and close.  So close.

 

She did not know who moved first, but when their lips met, she did not feel any desire to stop.

  
  
  
  
  



	9. Gold, Promises & Wine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ilyana Surana departs for new adventures with Esteven in search of the last ingredients for The Cure while Alistair and Blythe strategize to make Ferelden a stronger kingdom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter would not be possible without Zinjadu’s tireless efforts as my editor and beta, thank you, Zinja! 
> 
> She has a new series, The Long Way Home. Check it out!
> 
> [ **The Long Way Home** ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14613042)

 

Gold, Promises & Wine

  
  


The soft glow of dawn gently illuminated the room. The cool salty breeze danced in the loose hanging orange silk curtains. Ilyana’s cheek lay pressed between the nook between Esteven’s chest and shoulder. As she sleepily nuzzled into him, he pulled her leg that was draped over his thigh closer. Esteven lifted his head so he could gently kiss the top of her’s. The scent of vanilla and frankincense filled his nose.

 

When the first glimmer of consciousness hit Ilyana, she jolted up, rigid and panting before she relaxed, remembering where she was. Esteven sat up and gently took Ilyana’s shoulder and guided her back down. 

 

“Shh. You’re safe, you’re safe.” Esteven spoke softly holding Ilyana cuddling her tightly. 

 

Ilyana cleared her throat as she tapped his tanned, muscled forearm that was wrapped around her stomach as he held her. Puzzled and a little hurt, Esteven released her shoulders and held his hands in front of him as if to surrender. Ilyana sat up and looked back at Esteven and laughed.

 

“Don’t coddle me.” Pangs of guilt swatted at her heart when she saw the hurt expression on his face, and she swallowed heavily before she continued, “I'm sorry if how I woke startled or upset you.” Ilyana leaned forward placing a hand against his bearded cheek.

 

Esteven took her hand and brushed his lips against it before swiftly pulling her down and under him. “Never apologise for being who you are.” He leaned down to kiss her.

 

Ilyana positioned herself further beneath him and used the leverage from her legs to roll him so their positions were reversed. She kissed him passionately.

 

“As much as I want to stay in the throws of your vigorous embrace, I must go gather my notes to prepare for our departure, if I’m truly going with you.” Ilyana grinned. She climbed out of bed, standing naked with her back to Esteven. He studied her muscular and delicate form, paying extra attention to three long scars across her back.

 

Esteven propped himself up on his elbows, “May I ask you a question?”

 

She turned to him and shrugged. She sat down on the corner of the bed pulling on her brown leather breeches.

 

“Ask away,” she said hesitantly. Her chest tightened as she felt exposed and vulnerable, in spite of donning her clothes..

 

“Did the Archdemon give you those scars? How did you survive the battle with the Archdemon? I was told such things were impossible.” Esteven pushed himself off his elbows to sit upright, honey colored silk sheets draped across his lap. . Her eye caught the movement of the small, golden pendant he wore, hanging from a delicate chain to rest against his chest.  An Andrastean pendant. If he wore his faith like that, Illyana knew how he would react to the bitter truth, the secret she had held to her in spite of all efforts to tear it from her grasp. 

 

Forcing those dark thoughts down and away, she rose from the bed to pick her tunic up from the floor and pulled it over her head. “No, those scars are from the last Warden who asked me about surviving the Archdemon and his response to when I refused to answer.”

 

Esteven rose from his bed and crossed to Ilyana, gently wrapping his arms around her. Towering over her he leaned down and softly kissed her. “I am sorry, Yana.  I did not wish to bring such memories to your mind, such hurts, but you cried out in your sleep. I would soothe those hurts if I could.”

 

Ilyana swallowed hard, momentarily paralyzed with panic when she remembered awaking in the prison and the disgust when she remembered the months she endured at her own order’s hands.

 

“We’ll talk about it another time. You’ll have to earn that conversation, Esteven. One afternoon and a night with you, I hardly know you.” Ilyana picked up her belt and wrapped it twice around her waist over her tunic.

 

Esteven couldn’t help himself as he grinned, “Oh, after last night I think we’re quite well acquainted, but if that’s not enough for you, then I’m happy to say I’m willing to spend many more nights earning your confidence.”

 

Ilyana paused unable to contain her grin thinking of the night before. “Maybe, I’ll take you up on your offer later.”

 

Esteven reached for Ilyana pulling her close again, his large strong hands deftly unfastening her belt. He whispered soft and urgent in her ear. “I do believe that it’s later.”

  
  
  


***

 

“Why can’t things just stay fixed for a damn minute?” Alistair lamented to himself. He sat alone in his study. The heat of the bright morning sun caused him to sweat.  He was frustrated with his efforts to keep his kingdom upright and with how the wool of his tunic stuck to the sweat from his skin.

 

Alistair lowered his gaze from the stone ceiling to the open ornately carved oak door. Standing in the doorway was his beautiful wife, Blythe. Her flaxen ringlets tamed into a few plaited buns on the back of her head. Alistair was caught breathless, her skin glowed against the radiant green gown she wore.

 

“Husband. I have a plan,” she said, a proud, pleased light in her blue eyes. 

 

“I love it when you have plans.” Alistair rose to his feet and bowed his head as Blythe entered the room. He took the back of her hand and gently pressed his lips to it before she took a seat across him him at the substantial mahogany desk.  He’d always thought it was a bit much, but it was rather kingly, so he’d kept it.

 

“Good, because you’ll love this one.” She sat smiling at Alistair. She loved her husband, and the past two years, though there had been obstacles, had been the happiest years of her life.  They were a proper little family now, no cloud of the past hanging over their marriage anymore. She had let go of old jealousies. There was no point to think ill of the dead, and loving Chaska had been easier than Blythe had thought possible.

 

“Well?” He drew out the word and gestured for Blythe to continue. “What is it?”

 

“We’re going to build a network of schools for all of the children of Ferelden. Every major town will have a school. They will be free for everyone. There we can ensure every Ferelden child learns how to read, write and do arithmetic. They will learn how to hunt, have opportunities for physical conditioning,  and how to cook and keep a home. We will have a healthy, hearty, educated people, a strong people.” Blythe’s enthusiasm grew with every sentence.

 

Alistair sat with his mouth agape. “This, this is very ambitious. How do you suggest the Kingdom pays for it?”

 

“We tax the banns and we increase our export of wool and cheese to the rest of Thedas. By educating Ferelden will save our army money because everyone who enlists in the army will come with the ability to draw a bow and be more fit. We will strengthen Ferelden from the foundation up, and our foundation is our people. We will show Thedas we aren’t some backwater territory gone feral. The Fifth Blight means we must become stronger than ever before!” She slammed her fist down on the table to punctuate her speech. 

 

In silent contemplation, Alistair sat thinking deeply about what she proposed. He loved the idea, but felt it best to remain cautious.  When he did not speak, Blythe continued, “This, this could really change the kingdom! The bann’s won’t appreciate the tax increase, but we’ve kept the rebuilding from the Blight efforts off their shoulders, it’s time they invested in their kingdom.”

 

Alistair tenderly wrapped his hand around Blythe’s resting on the table. “You’re goodness never ceases to amaze me.”

 

Blythe smiled relieved, “Thank you, my love.” She paused. “It’s just the perfect time, the Blight is almost eleven years past, the Inquisition defeated Corypheus and the Breach is closed. The Inquisitor’s  focus seems to be on closing the remaining rifts, and for the first time in years, the world is relatively stable. Even the qunari are quiet.”

 

A shudder ran through Alistair, , the sensation made him nauseous for a moment. His mind returned to memories of the Darkspawn horde descending on Denerim, he felt the roar of the flames and tremble of the earth beneath the army of marching feet, and the look of fearless determination in the diminutive elven mage wielding a sword and shield beside him. He was back there for a moment watching Ilyana freeze entire waves of Darkspawn, her ferocity unmatched. He knew her anger was only fueled by the conversation they’d had after the Landsmeet. He watched her unleash her anger upon the wretched and unholy creatures telling himself when it was over he was going to make it right.  He remembered how he recited it to himself throughout the battle to only have them both survive, and he maintained the course Arl Eamon set for him. For a long time, to his deep regret. Did he still regret it, even now? Even when he had found such happiness without Ilyana? Happiness he had once fully believed he would never again. He had married Blythe and fathered Duncan for duty, but he already had learned that love could grow in the most unexpected places..

 

Like a rose bush in a small village.

 

“My love?” Blythe’s smooth voice, with her subdued Marcher accent, pulled Alistair from the throws of his memories.

 

“I’m sorry,” he said, and he shook himself back to the present. “You never forget your first Darkspawn horde.” He forced a smile shrugging off the past, refusing to let the grasping hands of ghosts ruin the occasion.  “Let’s get back to the business of educating Ferelden.”

 

***

 

Esteven wrapped his fingers around Ilyana’s slight wrist and pulled her behind him through the Eluvian. The other side of the mirror revealed a dark tall ceilinged room. The walls and floors were all the same uniform slatted wood. Esteven, who still held Ilyana’s hand, lead the way forward. He carried a rucksack and Ilyana’s shield across across his broad back. Ilyana was encumbered the bag of things Ghilis refused to let Ilyana depart without, and her sword, cloak and the supplies she carried through the Deep Roads. Through a long hall to a rickety elevated walkway, Esteven guided Ilyana to the heart of the Black Emporium. 

 

“Ah! Esteven, you return from Ghilasrevasun! And you bring with you a most curious guest. Are you passing through or do you plan on conducting some business.” The gravelly voice of the ancient Xenon the Antiquarian reverberated off the the walls greeting them. Ilyana traced the perimeter of the Emporium carefully surveying the bizarre trinkets and curiosities he had for sale.

 

“Greetings, Xenon, I do believe my guest would like to make a few purchases.” Esteven fully enjoyed watching Ilyana’s eyes go wide as she studying the peculiarities of the shop’s wares.   A woman who had seen more than most could ever imagine, still finding delight and wonder in the unexpected. Ilyana turned around and all but jumped when she discovered the dried up husk of an ancient body the voice originated from. 

 

She cleared her throat and straightened her spine, “Yes, I was hoping to grab six superb cleansing runes, a crate of lyrium potions, and Ghilis said you have fresh high dragon blood?”

 

A dry croaking laugh reverberated through the shop. “He did, did he? Thaddeus brought some in this morning.” Xenon continued to snicker, “Unfortunately, the entire batch is spoken for, and if you want lyrium, I suggest you bring that up with your  _ travelling _ partner.”

 

“No! There must be something I can trade, an agreement we can come to, I need three full vials. High dragons have a lot of blood,” Ilyana countered. Once, she had bargained and made deals as a matter of course, but after her time away from the world, a time around very few people, she felt out of her element.  It rankled, and she dug her heels in, refusing to be moved. Perhaps more grace would have been advisable, but she did not feel up to that particular task at present. 

 

“Ha! I can see why Ghilisenatha enjoyed your company. I don’t suppose you could get me the arm of the Inquisitor? No?” Xenon seemed to enjoying himself.

 

“Who’s the Inquisitor?” Ilyana asked looking at Esteven. He responded with a smile.

 

“Ha!  There are some, hm, recent events you would do well to familiarize yourself with.  I think Esteven should be able to assist in such matters should you two stay in… contact.” Xenon chuckled. “Urchin, spritz me with my serum.”

 

“I’ll explain more later.” Esteven said to Ilyana before turning to Xenon. “She  _ is _ my guest, Xenon. Give us realistic numbers. I’m covering the costs.”

 

“Wait, I can pay for--” 

 

“No, this one is on me, mi amor, I insist,” Esteven interrupted Ilyana, catching her gaze from across the room.  Though his words were firm, there was a tender light to his eyes, a silent request to allow him to do this for her.   

 

“I want ten knots of the Hero of Ferelden’s hair. I could sell it for twenty vials of fresh dragon blood.” Xenon retorted.

 

“Done,” she said before Esteven could refuse on her behalf.  It was sweet, his offer, almost unbearably so, but this was  _ her _ mission.  She would pay the price required.  The scars on her back were testament to that. 

 

Shrugging she pulled out her long braid, counted ten knots up from the bottom and quickly sliced it off with her dagger. Her raven hair fell out of the remainder of the braid, now short enough that it rested only  fist length down past her shoulders. Gently she laid the length of braid on the table that also housed jars of preserved creatures, none of which Ilyana had seen before.

 

“Urchin, go to the back and grab the runes and fresh dragon blood for our friend, Esteven. He always brings us the most fascinating goods.” Xenon’s coarse voice echoed off the ceilings.

 

***

 

“I’m sorry the place is in quite a bit of disarray. I basically dropped everything after my company’s last voyage to Rivain,” Esteven said to Ilyana as they stood in the doorway of an estate in a quiet corner of Hightown in Kirkwall. The hanging flowers smelled sweet and fresh in the warm evening air. Esteven turned the key in the lock with a satisfying click before turning the handle and pushing open the enormous door.

 

Inside, Ilyana discovered a large vestibule with wooden parquet floors with floral molding around the ceilings that lead to a massive great room. There was a single large staircase leading up to the second floor. Decorative chairs were carefully placed about the room to contribute to the majesty. The lamps were already lit, the firelight providing a warm and inviting glow. Esteven began removing layers and baggage from his person and setting it on the ornate oak carved bench.

 

“Come, leave your luggage here. I’ll have Vincenzo take it up to my quarters.” Esteven gently pulled Ilyana’s pack from her shoulders, grunting in surprise of it’s substantial weight. “You carried this through the Deep Roads?”

 

Pulling her cloak over her head, she flung it on the bench and with so much weight literally off her shoulders, she felt immediately refreshed in the balmy evening.  At his presumption, however, she cast him an arch look. “What makes you so sure I will share your quarters? isn’t it polite to offer a guest their own space?”

 

Esteven laughed, a hearty thing, perfectly in place in this warm house “Don’t worry, you’ll get your own wing if that is what you wish.  However, until we move you in properly, it’ll be safest for you in my quarters. I can sleep elsewhere, if that is what you prefer.”

 

“Wait, what? My own wing?” The implications of what he said slowly occured to Ilyana, but before Esteven could answer, a muffled voice called from the other end of the mansion.

“Oi! Patron! Is that you? Are you back?”  

 

“I am!” Esteven called out, and then smiled, taking Ilyana’s hand in his, his thumb gently tracing across her knuckles.  For a moment he found himself lost in her dark violet eyes again. He was tempted to lean in and kiss her, but instead he contented himself with a lighter touch.  A more cautious kind of pursuit.

 

“Come, let me give you a tour.  Again,” he said, grin turning proud as he showed her his home.    He lead her through three sitting rooms before descending a short set of marble stairs down to a large den with four men sitting beneath a hanging lantern playing a game of Wicked Grace. 

 

“Patron! I knew it was you...Oh! Mesere!” The man who spoke immediately jumped to his feet. He had a youthful face of a rich chocolate color and wore well tailored saffron tunic and cobalt breeches, so vibrant they were noticeable in the dim light. 

 

Esteven drew himself up proudly, flaunting his impressive stature as a wide grin spread across his bearded face.  He gestured expansively at the men, as if introducing them to a theatre audience, not one, small elven mage. “Suero, Moritz, Barrez, and Raban, this is my friend Ilyana, she’s going to be joining us.”

 

The remainder of the table rose to their feet as their names were listed.  . Moritz and Barrez, twins of Rivaini origin, nodded their heads in a bow of respect. Raban rolled his eyes and sat back down at the table. Esteven crossed the room, he grabbed two more chairs from the wall and placed them at the table. 

 

“Ilyana, this is Suero, he runs the books for this humble operation, then you have Moritz and Barrez, twins, and the two best sailors Rivain ever made, and my second, Raban. We have about thirty more guys are the warehouse. We pay our men well, keep them fed, and try not to rely too much on grog to keep them in line.  Those who make the cut tend to stay on. We run a good and tight ship,” he explained, laying out his whole smuggling business for her. Then he turned to his men and offered up a final introduction. “Ilyana’s an expert at potions and my friend. She needs us to help her obtain a few items, and will be staying here. Make her feel welcome at all times.” 

 

Ilyana studied the crew as she took a seat. Suero immediately reminded her of Captain Harion, and her heart ached for Denerim, for Chaska, for… she refused to finish the thought. She greeted the table with a smile, she felt uneasy with her back to the door but pretended not to care.

 

“So, an elf, Esteven?” Raban sneered, the shadows beneath his dark eyes and sharp long features amplified his look of disgust. He wore a Tevinter style silk tunic in a fair color which contrasted against his freckled dark skin and sun bleached brown hair. Esteven knit his brows together as he shot Raban a glare that could scare most grown men, but Raban shrugged it off.

 

“Yes, an elf, Raban. Before any words that would typically fall from your face in a typical bigotted Vint fashion, I’d like to remind you that she’s my guest, and we treat my guests with respect and dignity.” Esteven spoke evenly, but a flare of anger wove through his words..

 

“So, Ilyana, yes? Where do you hail from?” Suero asked brightly, saving the mood of the table while shuffling the deck of cards. “Shall I deal you two in?”

 

“I was raised in Denerim, and I’m game to play if the big guy is.” Ilyana grinned elbowing Esteven. He grunted softly at the jab, both the literal and figurative,  before placing an around around Ilyana’s waist. Ilyana allowed it, grateful he had noticed that the situation threatened to overwhelm her in spite of her confident words.  She was very far from the solitude of Ghilis’s Library and the incessant cruelty of the Weisshaupt Wardens. 

 

Suero clicked his tongue against his teeth and whistled while dealing the cards to everyone at the table. “Rough time, that Denerim has gone through. Much changed after the Blight?”

 

Ilyana shrugged. “I left Denerim before then,” she hesitated, hedging around the truth of being taken from the Alienage to be thrown into the Circle. ”I spent my youth in a small town on a lake. I didn’t explore much until I was an adult, and then I spent some time as a soldier for the crown after the Blight before heading west.”

 

Raban picked up his cards, the excessive rings on his fingers clicking against each other. “There’s nothing but desert and Wardens in the west. Which were you going to see?”

 

“She’s a scholar, Raban, someone has to write the books explaining things,” Esteven responded quickly, at ease giving only partial truths.  More comfortable with that than Ilyana at least.

 

“Hey, don’t peek at my cards!” Ilyana exclaimed into the tense moment.  She elbowed Esteven again and in response he pulled her closer to him.

 

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Mesere.” Esteven grinned, mock deference lacing his voice.

 

“This occasion calls for more wine!” Moritz exclaimed.

 

***

 

When the time came to retire for the evening, Esteven lead Ilyana upstairs to his suite.  Giggling and stumbling the entire way, Ilyana knew the wine had gone straight to her head, but she didn’t let that knowledge stop her from following him. When they reached his bedroom, Esteven shut the door softly behind him, and Ilyana glanced around the well appointed room.  A large bed dominated the area, but the windows were thrown open, letting in the scent of flowers from the gardens below. Momentarily distracted, Ilyana started as Esteven’s arms encircled her from behind, his lips hovering a hair’s breadth away from her delicate ears. 

 

“I could sleep elsewhere, if you wished,” he reminded her, but she did not give it a moment’s thought.  Her earlier reticence had dissolved, in part because of the wine, and in part because she wanted him for herself.  Turning about in his arms, she pressed her body to his, fingertips tracing the outline of his muscles under his shirt.

 

“Who said anything about sleep?” she asked, as bold as brass.  With a wicked grin, he picked up Ilyana and gently tossed her upon the bed. She laughed as she bounced on the soft cushioning. Esteven leapt across the room and landed perfectly above her. He pressed his hips into hers as he showered her with cascading soft kisses. Gently he slipped his large hand under her tunic around to her back pulling her to him.

 

“Tomorrow I’ll show you your study and laboratory where you can conduct your experiments for the cure, I’ll have my men procure everything you need. I’ll send for a tailor so we can get your some finer clothes made.” Esteven told her as he peppered kisses along her jaw and down her neck.

 

“What’s wrong with my clothes?” Ilyana asked, playfully tapping Esteven on the nose, a silly counterpoint to his more heated efforts.

 

“What’s wrong with your clothes? Mi amor, a lady such as yourself has no business in such rags. You deserve the best, new boots, new anything you want. All you have to do is ask! Then later in the week we’ll go get you the lyrium you need. I hope you don’t get seasick.” Esteven kissed Ilyana deeply, breathing her in, wrapping his tongue around hers as if he couldn’t get enough of her.

 

Ilyana pulled his shirt over his head and gently ran her fingers down his defined chest.  At the thought of joining his crew on his ship, she recalled Raban’s hostility all too well.  It compelled her to ask, “Will it be a problem, my being an elf?” 

 

Esteven shook his head, and took her hand from his chest, bringing to his lips.   “Never for me. I’ve never seen a more beautiful woman in my life. You are more than a man could have ever dreamed of.”

 

“You are intelligent,” he said, slowly unbuckling her leather belt and sliding it from about her hips.  Her heart raced in her chest as he slowly undressed her, and felt a pulse of desire build between her legs as he spoke, holding her gaze with forge-hot eyes.  

 

“You are beautiful and deadly,” he said as he unlaced one of her boots, then the next, pulling them from her feet and tossing them to the floor.  He then moved over her, holding himself above her, his blond hair falling about his face, and she traced the strong lines of his face with her fingertips.  

 

Maker help her, she  _ wanted _ him, and this slow undressing was torture.  Her hands reached for his belt, to undo it and free him from the last of his clothing, but gently took her hands away to place them over his heart.  He spoke with without reserve or fear, and his words lit a fire that she thought had gone out years ago. “I’ve waited my entire life for a woman such as you.” 

  
  
  



	10. In War, Victory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ilyana and Esteven go on an adventure with his crew to obtain ingredients for The Cure. Alistair, Duncan and Chaska train together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A HUGE thank you goes to my amazing editor and beta, Zinjadu. She makes this series go.
> 
> She’s also the writer of the truly fantastic [**The Long Way Home**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14613042). Give it a read!

“Does this new tunic make me look fat?” Alistair asked sticking out his gut purposely. He didn’t understand why Blythe insisted velvet was a summer choice when he much preferred raw silk.  It was cooler, for one. 

 

“The tunic doesn’t make you look fat,” Blythe responded without lifting her head from her reading. “The cheese plate every night with dinner makes you look fat.”

 

Alistair let out an anguished, high-pitched scream., “Did you just call me fat?” He crossed his arms across his chest noticing the slightest shelf his soft belly created for his arms to rest upon.

 

“No, you’re not fat, but you're not exactly the strapping young warrior I first met twelve years ago. You’re leading Ferelden from a throne and not from an echelon of soldiers.” She grinned, though she kept her head bent over herbook while she jotted down some notes.

 

He sucked his belly and lower lip in, his feelings hurt, but the truth of her statement, unfortunately, was impossible to deny. “Fine.” 

 

Blythe lifted her head from her reading with an eyebrow raised, amused by the entire exchange. “Fine? Isn’t that  _ my _ line when I’m upset with something you said?”

 

“It is, and I’m stealing it. I’ll show you a fit and strong king!” Alistair pulled off the offending tunic and rummaged through his clothing before finding the light tunic he typically wore when he went for walks or sparred with Commander Harion. As soon as the garment cleared his head and shoulders he noticed it was significantly tighter in the middle than it was the last time he wore it. Dramatically, he left the room with a slammed door and made it way to the guard’s barracks having decided that he was going to take his guard for a run to Fort Drakon.

  
  


***

 

The cool spray of a wave crashing against the hull of the tall ship misted Ilyana Surana’s face. The salt of the sea air was refreshing and invigorated her soul. She’d spent the majority of the past several weeks practically cloistered in the laboratory Esteven had set up for her in his mansion.. Though  _ cloistered _ might not be an entirely accurate term.  Esteven was successful most evenings at drawing her attention and taking her to Kirkwall’s finest establishments and occasional soirees. Then, when the news came that the a shipment of lyium was being smuggled out of Kirkwall, Esteven knew it was time to act and he insisted that Ilyana join him and his crew.  She had protested, insisting that she needed to keep working, but in the fresh air on the open water she felt lighter, freer than she had in a long time. 

 

Leaning opposite the angle of the ship as it heeled over, she held onto the wooden railing of the ship. The wind boomed in the sails, and the ship seemed to glide over the water as it cut through the gentle swells of the sea. Her raven hair whipped around her face, and her flushed cheeks ached from the smile that had not left her face since they had set off that morning. Esteven ascended the ladder from below, and his eyes drank in the sight of Ilyana savoring the moment. His heart quickened to see her like this.  To any observer, they might say she had profoundly changed from when they had first met, but he had a suspicion that she was more  _ herself _ .   There was an abiding warmth to her, balanced by an eager sense of playfulness.  Then there was her smile, the smile that turned soft at the edges when she thought no one was present, even while  she worked tirelessly on The Cure.

 

Esteven exchanged a few words with Raban, his first mate, before crossing to the bow of the ship to where Ilyana stood. He greeted her with a tender kiss, and she responded, rising up on her tiptoes and pressing her body close to his.   He’d not been shy about showing her affection in front of his men since after the first day; a woman such as her should not be hidden away, he thought. He wrapped his large hand on the railing and placed his free hand on her hip. 

 

“The sea air agrees with you!” He leaned in so he could be heard over the wind. Ilyana nodded and smiled as he continued. “I wish I could say I brought you along purely as my companion, but a power such as yours cannot be denied, mi amor. Alas, your healing skills might be of use in this little venture. Though we will need to  keep your abilities underwraps unless completely necessary, you understand, yes?”

 

Ilyana exhaled away the annoyance she felt about concealing her nature. She was grateful she was an Arcane Warrior, able to wield sword and shield alongside the bravest swordsmen. The flash of a memory stole the wind from her chest-- _ Alistair keeping the high dragon’s attention on the mountainside, the cold wind in her ears as her magical blade struck home, and as the dragon roared its last, his bright grin, the racing of her heart as they caught sight of each other, bloody, yet victorious, the Temple of Sacred Ashes safe _ \--she blinked the clear the flood of her mind, but the memory made her wonder.   Did he still train and fight, was he living the good, fat life on the throne? A wave crashed into the boat splashing her and Esteven, jarring Illyana back to the present even as Esteven whooped in delight, having never left. 

 

“Mi amor! It’s good to be at sea again! If I could forever be underway I would!” Esteven picked Ilyana up and spun her around, his broad grin curtailed as he noticed her lingering abstraction.  He set her down and tucked a strand of raven hair behind one pointed ear. Curious, he asked, “Where did you go, just now?”

 

“I was reminded of the Blight, that’s all. Some things never leave you.” Ilyana smiled and waved away the vestiges of her past, trying to clear them cobwebs. “Just as this memory of my first voyage will always be with me.”

 

“AHOY!” Barrez cried out from the crow’s nest.  His voice carried easily, and she followed the line of his hand to where he pointed.  “Ship ahead off the starboard side! It’s Carta!” 

 

“Look alive, men! Victory will be ours within the hour!” Esteven roared to his crew. Every man on deck hooted three times and cheered. Esteven kissed Ilyana on the cheek before he left her side to bark orders at his men.

 

Ilyana watched, marvelling at how integrated Esteven and his crew were. They moved with a grace usually reserved for dancers, leaping across the deck readying for the attack as if every step was choreographed. Moritz, Barrez’s twin, handed out swords, daggers and crossbows to the some odd thirty men who would  board the Carta ship. After ensuring all the men were properly armed, he approached Ilyana.

 

“Mesere! Do you know your way around one of these?” Moritz asked, offering Ilyana a sword. She grinned and nodded. “Good. Take this. I didn’t think the Captain would bring anyone on a mission like this who couldn’t fend for themselves, no matter how beautiful.” Moritz’s dark, boyish face flushed for a second.

 

Ilyana chuckled as she took the blade. “I have some experience with blades, Moritz.  You don’t need to worry about me.”

 

“Good! You’re gonna need it!” Moritz grinned and snapped his fingers before he took the remainder of blades below deck. 

 

Raban sneered as he watched the exchange between Ilyana and Moritz. “Waste of equipment,” he said to himself, spitting his words. Ilyana heard it, but she ignored it.  She had no longer had to win over the world to save it. That part of her life was behind her.

 

The Carta’s vessel, though larger and with much more sail, couldn’t outmaneuver Esteven’s fast cutter. Within the hour they were along side unleashing volleys of arrows at the dwarves lined up alongside their ship, while the dwarves answered with crossbow bolts. Ilyana sat back and watched the mayhem. Esteven’s crew was fearless, swinging from the rigging onto the Carta’s ship and out fighting the dwarves--and mercenary elves and humans--at every turn. Esteven’s crew was alive in the battle, and it was clear the Carta wasn’t prepared for the ferocity of the attack. 

 

Esteven boarded the enemy ship swinging a two handed sword with such force he knocked four dwarfs off their ship into the sea, where they landed with a solid splash.  Illyana spared a thought for how the dwarves were not likely to surface, but she re-trained her focus on the men she was supposed to save. Esteven’s crew. Ten more Carta dwarves charged at the Antivan giant when Barrez and Moritz leapt to Esteven’s side together the three of them made swift business of finishing the wave of attackers. One of the Carta’s mercenary elves seized an opening in the melee and brought his sword down, slicing a deep gash down  Barrez’s bare arm. Dark crimson of blood oozed from his wound but the adrenaline kept him focused on blocking and parrying the dwarves attacks. A dagger wielding Carta dwarf circled around to attack Barrez in the back, but Moritz ran his blade through the dwarf before he could land his strike. 

 

“You’re getting lazy, brother!” Moritz grinned as his strident voice carried over the clamor of battle.  

 

“Lazy?” Barrez, incited by his brother’s teasing, threw his dagger into the Carta mercenary that had been sneaking up behind his twin while blocking another attack from his front. “I’m a little busy over here!”

 

Moritz kicked an attacking Carta elf in the chest, forcing the elf to stumble backwards against the railing.  The elf regained his footing and with three steps he closed the distance and with fury he swung his short sword at Barrez. The elf’s attack was blocked by Esteven’s blade. He pushed the elf back with his force and kicked him overboard.

 

“Extra points for repartee, but I think you’ve done enough.  Let’s get below and find the captain,” Esteven ordered with a scimitar smile.  With a booming laugh, he kicked in the door to the companionway hatch, the wood splintering down the middle with the force of the blow.  The boarding party cheered on their captain, and the Rivani twins formed a rear-guard for Esteven, fending off those foolish enough to try to save their captain.  

 

From the aftcastle on the Carta ship emerged a human holding a staff. Ilyana, watched the fray from her perch on the quarter deck of Esteven’s ship, immediately sensing the magic flowing through the Carta’s mage. He was dressed in the same leather armor of the Carta to be inconspicuous, but Ilyana learned long ago to feel for other magic users. He raised his staff and hurled a fireball at the mast and rigging of Esteven’s ship.  It would cripple the ship if it landed, and Ilyana’s battle-honed instincts kicked in. Raising her staff, she cast a barrier over the whole ship, the fireball striking it in a brilliant mixture of blue Fade-light and raging orange fire. A bare half a heart beat after that, she pulled on the Fade again, closing her fist and directing her will with pinpoint accuracy. Lightning struck out of the clear blue sky, capturing the Carta’s mage in a cage of lightning, holding him in electric agony.  Purple tendrils of magic struck out, paralyzing other Carta fighters. 

 

There went keeping her abilities under wraps, she thought dryly.

 

A few of Esteven’s men emerged from below carrying three chests with glowing blue veins in the sides. With the  Carta on deck paralyzed by Ilyana’s lightning cage, the men carrying the chests had safe and direct passage onto Esteven’s ship. Raban hurried the chest below decks and began recalling their men as he knocked his bow with a flaming arrow. He shot the mast and the mainsail of the Carta vessel, and they both caught flame quickly. 

 

Esteven emerged with a small chest in his arms, leaping over the Carta corpses back to his ship. The Carta mage regained consciousness and before anyone could react, he conjured a stone fist.  It flew toward Esteven as he jumped, but the mage misjudged the arc and the fist smashed into Ilyana’s chest, the force from the blow carrying her across the deck and over the railing, sending her plummeting to the dark waters below.

 

“No! Man overboard!” Esteven cried, hardly audible over the wind. Time stopped as alarm tightened his muscles, focused his eyes and accelerated his heart. It was his worst fear playing out before his eyes. Without further hesitation, he threw the chest to the deck as he was focused on a singular thing. He spared a single breathless moment, eyes searching for any sign of where Illyana landed, but there was none. Without further hesitation he dove into the sea. Braced for the shock of the water, he kept his breath, but the cold hit him all the same, and the darkness was difficult to see through.  Then he caught a flash out the corner of his eye, and he saw Illyana’s staff, the crystal winking in the light that penetrated the water. Then just a few feet down was Illyana, the debris of the Carta ship pushing her deeper under the water. 

 

Slowly he began to exhale, his lungs burning as he swam further down.  It was like he was crawling through the water for her, too slow, too far away.  He drew on the Taint within him to give him that extra edge, and with a final, desperate surge of strength, he reached her.  Grabbing her wrist in one hand, he held her securely as he surged for the surface. 

 

Breaking the line of the water he sucked in a hard breath, but did not waste any time on celebrating his own survival.  Instead, he floated her body beside his and swam for his ship. One of the men had flung a rope ladder of the side, and Esteven caught the bottom rung in his free hand and hauled them both out of the water.  

 

“Pull us up!” he commanded.  The men began to haul up the ladder while he adjusted his hold on her, one arm securing wrapping around her middle.  She was limp, horrifyingly limp, and he had no idea how much water she had swallowed. Now that he held her better, he climbed the ladder the rest of the way, knowing speed was of the essence.  

 

“Change course for Kirkwall!” Esteven ordered as he kicked his leg over the railing. Once on deck he laid Ilyana down. His chest pounded when he realized Ilyana wasn’t breathing. Then suddenly Ilyana began to cough up water.  She sat up and continued to cough for a few minutes. Esteven sat beside her, holding her up rubbing her back while he thanked the Maker she was still alive.

 

“She’s a bloody mage!” Raban spat his words at Esteven, eyes narrow and vicious. “She’ll be the death of us, all her kind.” He emphasised his anger by pointing the tip of his bow in Esteven’s direction with every word. Esteven said nothing.  The other men watched as Captain and First Mate stared each other down, a rift between the two men opening up like a crack in the earth. Esteven did not move from Illyana’s side, however, and Raban stormed below decks fuming and feeling betrayed by his friend and boss.

 

“You scared me,” Esteven said quietly to Ilyana.  Gently, he braced her upright, brows drawn down in worry for her.   

 

“Sorry, I won’t do it again…” Ilyana began to laugh but it quickly divulged into a coughing fit, her body’s attempt to get the rest of the water out of her lungs.

 

The seas were calm and the wind was plentiful for the two day’s voyage back to Kirkwall.

 

***

  
  


Duncan has spent the day buried in his studies desperately ignoring the sounds of chirping birds and the warm sunshine that came in as glowing beams through the window. 

 

The sharp clacks from metal tapping stone drew Duncan’s already distracted attention. His book made a satisfying slap as he slammed it shut. He peeked his head out of the room to see the comical sight of his sister Chaska half dragging, half carrying a gigantic kite shield. He covered his mouth suppressing a giggle. When he couldn’t take it anymore he erupted in snickering laugh.

 

“Hey, Chaska! Where’re you going?” Duncan asked. He was a tall nine year old, already bigger than his eleven year old sister, but he tended to follow her lead.  She was older, after all, and always knew what she was doing

 

“I was going to train with Dad, wanna come?” Chaska asked. She carried her practice sword and shield across her back. Her shield was almost as large as she was, but when offered a smaller shield she refused saying that she remembered her mom having a shield that size. 

 

Duncan’s face scrunched up with disappointment. “I can’t, I have more history to study.”

 

“Do it after! You need a break, come on!” she playfully nagged, tugging on his arm.

 

Duncan quickly mulled over the possibilities biting his lower lip while he thought, just like his mother.  He realized he was only pretending to be thinking of reasons he really shouldn’t go with her and replied, “Mmmmm. Okay! I’ll meet you there!”

 

Chaska nodded and ran through the castle, around the garden and down to the Royal Guard’s barracks to the castle’s training grounds. When she leapt from the bottom of the stairs she threw her shield on the ground and slid down the grassy hill sitting on it. At the bottom of the hill was Royal Guard and her father all in formation doing push-ups. Chaska leapt off her shield when she landed on the bottom of the hill and join in the exercise.

 

“My Dragon Girl!” Alistair exclaimed when he saw his daughter doing push-ups in unison with him and the guards.  He grinned widely at Chaska’s enthusiasm. It never failed to make him proud at how she threw herself fully into everything she did.  Like her mother had, burying herself in books one moment and fighting fiercely the next, never content to do anything halfway, to give less than her all.

 

When they were finished they leapt to their feet, and although Alistair was fatigued, he didn’t lose enthusiasm. He’d been working out with the guards and the soldiers twice a day, six days a week for the past three months. He was trimmer and stronger than he had been in years, and the happiest he’d been since the Blight. It was strange for him to think about the Blight being among his happiest days, but he missed the camaraderie between a circle of friends. To say those had been difficult times would be an understatement, but they could always find laughter together. In that moment he wished Zevran or Leliana would just arrive, out of the blue, not for Divines or Inquisitors, but as friends. He wondered if they’d met Chaska or even knew about her. 

 

“Dad!” Chaska called out just as she flung her shield at him.

 

Alistair, snapping back to the present, grabbed the kite shield from the air.  The momentum almost spun him around, but he maintained his balance. Then he examined it, noticing  the crest on its face. He smiled, recognizing the shield immediately. “Where did you find this, sweetheart?” 

 

“Duncan and I went exploring the back stores of the barracks last week.” Chaska looked down sheepishly, unable to contain herself she blurted, “Can I keep it?”

 

“Traitor!” Duncan yelled as he ran down the hill.  He joined them, his practice blade in hand. Unlike their father, Duncan favored the larger, two-handed weapons which let him use his size to his advantage.

 

Alistair erupted in laughter and handed the shield back to Chaska. “It was your mother’s, so I say it’s rightfully yours. I wonder how it ended up in there.”

 

Chaska, barely strong enough to hold the shield out from her for long periods, stared at the Gray Warden emblem painted into the front. A long gash down the centerline of the shield marred it’s already worn exterior. 

 

“Was that from the Archdemon?” Chaska asked, in awe. It had been so many years she’d almost forgotten what her mother looked like.  In Chaska’s mind, her mother had become a larger than life hero who saved the world, and less the warm woman who had held her as a little girl. Alistair nodded.

 

“Yes, I remember it quite clearly,” he added, though said nothing further.  Instead, he chose not to dwell on the memory and remained present with his children.  Picking up a training sword and shield and crouched down into a stance holding his shield at the ready. “Duncan, watch my footwork.”

 

Alistair crossed his feet behind the other while Chaska peaked out from behind her shield holding her practice sword ready. Alistair rapidly closed the distance to Chaska, he faked to the left and whipped around attacking to the right. Chaska blocked the strike with her shield and countered with a swing which Alistair blocked.

 

“Very nice, Chaska.” Alistair couldn’t help but note how much Chaska was like Ilyana, she had her smile, delicate chin and unmistakably his eyes. Her hair was a rich auburn, a medium between his rusty light brown and Ilyana’s midnight black. Without a doubt, she was unmistakably her own person. He was thrilled at the thought he would get to see who she grows into, but then his heart broke momentarily when the realization he had maybe twenty more years to live, at best. He took an extra second to capture what Chaska and Duncan looked like holding their training weapons in the heat of late summer in is mind so he could keep it with him always. 

 

“En guarde, Dad!” Duncan pointed his sword at his father. 

 

Alistair squared off with his son, Duncan swung around and Alistair blocked the strike to his right before countering  it with an underhand swing. Duncan jumped back narrowly missing the attack. Alistair kept pushing forward backing Duncan against one of the castle’s walls. Every strike was blocked and countered by both of them.

 

“CHASKA! I’m pinned down!” Duncan cried out to his sister, evading attack after attack. 

 

“I’LL SAVE YOU!” Chaska’s voice rang out as she threw down her sword and shield and ran after her father and brother. When she was close enough she leaped up and jumped on Alistair’s back.

 

Alistair fell to his knees, “Not fair!” Chaska jumped to her feet and clasped her brother’s forearm. The siblings laughed together. Duncan extended a hand to his father. Alistair took it and pulled himself up.

 

“You won’t always have your sister there to protect you, Duncan.” Alistair remarked.  Though he tried to maintain a serious exterior, in his heart of hearts he swelled with pride at how well his children worked together as a team.

 

“Not true!” Chaska insisted. “It’s my job to protect my brother, and besides I have sister powers. It’s a thing.”

 

“Yeah, what she said.” Duncan added to emphasize Chaska’s point.

 

“Sister powers? That’s a good one, I’ll let the Antivan Crows know you’re protected by  _ Sister Powers _ .” Alistair smirked and patted both his children on the back. “Okay, kids, then you spar each other.

 

Duncan whipped his head around. “Aww, really? She hits so hard.”

 

“NO MERCY!” Chaska yelled as she ran across the grounds back to her sword. “Prepare to meet your doom, heretic!”

 

“Well then, don’t get hit.” Alistair cajoled his son, ruffling his hair and pushing him toward the sparring circle.  Once he had thought his happiest days were behind him, but watching his children play and learn together, Alistair realized he’d found a different kind of happiness.  He was a father, and his children had each other, something he’d never had. There was nothing better than that.

 

***

 

Illyana sat propped up on a low settee in the sitting room of Esteven’s manor, and she knew these humans had no idea how good her hearing was.  Nor did Raban know how his voice carried. 

 

“Esteven. Will you think with your head? She’s a  _ elf _ and a mage. She’s dangerous and going to cost you everything. Please tell me her tits are made of gold.” Raban fretted dropping into his chair in exasperation.  They’d returned from their voyage not hours before. The cargo stowed in the mansion, most of the men were already at The Hanged Man, Blessed Blades, or Blooming Rose celebrating another successful job.  But that was not the whole of it, and Esteven sighed.

 

Esteven leaned against the wall behind his desk pursing his lips in frustration at his second in command. “Raban, if you want to retain your employment, you will keep your objections to yourself. I would have fired you a month ago, if you were not also my friend.” He pulled out the chair from his desk and took a seat. 

 

“I’d hope so.” Raban’s eyebrows pinched low on his brow with his arms crossed his chest. “But, I’ve known you for over ten years, and I’ve never seen you this way. You endangered all of us for what? A pretty face? I’ve seen you chase pretty faces before, but you nearly died pulling her from the sea! Is she  _ that  _ good in bed?” 

 

Esteven scowled and slammed his fist down. “You will not speak of her that way, and you wouldn’t if you knew who she was, not just to me but to us all!” His words left a ringing reverberation in the room.

 

Raban’s interested piqued, he leaned forward in his seat, “Well then, who is she?” He waited annoyed for Esteven to respond. He knew he’d just caught Esteven, there was something he was concealing.

 

Realizing what he just said, Esteven brought his hand to his face smoothing out his short beard. “This does not leave this room. Swear it to me, Raban.” 

 

“Esteven…” Raban sighed, exasperated with his friend’s sudden secrecy.  Secrecy with  _ him _ .  .

 

“I need you to swear it.” Esteven held firm.

 

“Fine.” Raban acquiesced, “I swear it.”

 

Esteven took a moment, deciding to throw caution to the wind, hoping that their long friendship was enough currency for him to hold his word. “Ilyana Surana is none other than the Hero of Ferelden, the Grey Warden who defeated the Archdemon and ended the Fifth Blight.”

 

Raban’s eyes widened with surprise.   For every answer he was expecting, what he heard was the one possibility that hadn’t ever occurred to him. “Oh.” He paused a moment longer. “She’s the Hero of Ferelden. Very well, but that doesn’t explain your strange behavior lately. Shouldn’t you tell your friends what’s going on?”

 

Esteven sighed. “What’s going on? Raban. I’m in love, and not the lustful infatuation or a boy pining for affection, but love. With her, we’re equals, I’m not divided between her and my company or my men. She’s a veteran of adventure, and you saw her, she saved lives out there. Being beside her is as natural as breathing.  She’s a Warden like me, we share the dreams of Darkspawn at night, but it’s more than that. When I saw her plunge into the deep, my heart stopped beating. I can’t even entertain the thought of her death, and when I look at her Raban, when I look at her I see a future for myself, for the both of us. Together.”

 

Raban listened carefully, considering what Esteven had just disclosed. The shock of Ilyana’s identity and Esteven’s feelings left him with one course of action. “I’m sorry, my friend but I must take my leave from the company for a time. Maybe I’m getting too old for this life.” He offered a sickly smile as a meagre condolence.

 

“I spill my heart to you, and your decision is to leave? My friend…” Esteven’s mouth was filled with a bitter taste making his lips purse. 

 

Raban rose to his feet and walked toward the door. “Raban!” Esteven called out as Raban’s hand turned the filigree engraved metal door knob.

 

“You will remember your promise to me,” Esteven said, his nostrils flared as grief filled him

 

“I won’t forget. Until the next time, my friend.” Raban spoke over his shoulder and slammed the door behind him and with haste he departed the manor.

 

In the sitting room, Ilyana let out a long breath. She knew she could never escape her race and nature. In the past it had been enough to make her wish she was never a mage, but then she’d steel her heart again. She could no more change her race and magic than she could alter the patterns of the stars in the sky. However, those thoughts were quickly drowned out by hearing Esteven say that he loved her, to hear him defend it, against the objections of even his closest friend.  He had  _ fought _ for her, as no one else ever had.  

 

Her heartbeat quickened, and she felt giddy and light, like when she was nineteen during the Blight and another man had stolen her heart with an earnest smile and a single rose.  Her stomach fluttered as if it were filled with flitting butterflies , her mouth was dry and a lightness in her chest she’d long forgotten. She  _ loved _ him. Oh Maker, she thought, she loved Esteven. She would never know love ever again and  the love she had known in the past was all she would ever have. All she could ever have. But there she was, in a lovely mansion in Kirkwall hundreds of miles from Denerim and Ferelden, hearing a handsome wonderful man that she loved declare his love and defend it in the face of objections. For the first time in her life she felt the bolstered and secure. Esteven picked her. He chose her.

 

Later that evening after everyone had bathed and enjoyed a dinner peppered with the accounts of all the  heroics of their mission, Ilyana and Esteven sat on his bed sharing a bottle of wine. 

 

“I’ve never seen the kind of spells you cast. You command lightning and the weather as if you’re the Maker Himself.” Esteven downed the rest of his glass, resting his empty goblet on the gilded night stand. Ilyana finished her glass and Esteven took it from her before clasping both of her tiny hands within his, larger, strong hands.

 

“I must confess, when you were knocked clear of the ship, I was near out of my mind with fear that I had lost you. Holding you, and you not breathing in my arms made me realize...” He paused looking down, shielding his welling eyes from her gaze, “That I never want to live through losing you. The prospect of having to face a day beyond you, I cannot do it, mi amor.”

 

Ilyana raised his hands to her lips and kissed his knuckles softly. “I’m not going anywhere.” Esteven responded by releasing her hand and wrapped the small elven woman up in his arms and held her tightly. 

 

“Did you mean what you said, to Raban?” Ilyana couldn’t help but ask.

 

Esteven laughed as he  rolled onto his back, pulling Ilyana over him.. “I knew you were listening. You’re real trouble.”

 

Ilyana grinned. “Oh, I’m the worst trouble.” 

 

He propped himself up onto his elbows to he could kiss her tenderly. “Yes, I meant every word I said. Raban will get over his fit, but I won’t ever get over you. I love you, Ilyana” He kissed her again.

 

Ilyana slid off his belly and sat beside him. “Esteven, I love you. Which means, I have something I must tell you.”  Esteven sat up and stared at her with intensely taking her hand in his.

 

“Please, tell me everything.” He whispered into her knuckles before brushing his lips upon them. Ilyana shivered, goosebumps prickling along her bare arms, and she had to take a moment to collect her thoughts. 

 

“I… I have a daughter, Chaska. She’s twelve now, and I don’t know where she is. I left her at the Circle of Magi under the care of one of my closest friends. But I don’t know if that’s where she is. I’ve missed so many years of her life, I wonder if she even remembers me.” Ilyana tried not to think of her daughter, the daughter she had left to find a Cure for, but that was impossible.  Chaksa with with her every day, every day she searched for a Cure so her daughter wouldn’t be without a mother. But in her quest, Ilyana was hit with the sudden weight of having left her heart behind.

 

Esteven pulled her into his arms and rolled on top of her showering her in kisses across her face. “Mi amor, we will find her after we’re cured. I promise. I’ll get the company in on the mission and we always succeed. We’ll save your daughter, we’ll bring her home, and then she’ll be our daughter.”

 

Once again, Esteven’s generous heart surprised Ilyana. She wrapped her around around him grabbing the hem of his tunic and pulled it over his head, and he responded in kind removing her blouse. She pulled him back on top of her, their lips locked in a kiss, a kiss that consumed and drowned out the world outside.  Her heart felt as naked as her skin. Esteven gently glided the tips of her fingers down the length of her thigh and pulled her toward him. 

 

He leaned down and whispered in her ear, “I love you with my whole heart, now and forever.”

 

“And I love you,” Ilyana whispered in return, and it was like her heart beat for the first time.


	11. Love in Fire and Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Esteven and Ilyana forge new ground while Blythe breaks ground on the first public school in Denerim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An incredibly heartfelt thank you goes to Zinjadu, she's been the most patient and best beta and editor I could dream of. She has her own fantastic series [**The Long Way Home**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14613042) please give it a read!

 

Love in Fire and Blood

 

It was a day unlike any she’d known before in her entire life. When she awoke that morning she saw a beautiful blue silk gown with tiny white flowers embroidered into a pattern across the bodice laid out on the the bed for her to wear. She’d not worn a garment so fine in her entire life. Since she took on the role of Commander she favored tunics and breeches; it took her all day to feel comfortable in the dress.

 

When the summer sun hung low in the sky, Esteven returned to the mansion and swept Ilyana off to dine at the finest establishment in Kirkwall. The city’s wealthiest gathered there to eat the rarest and most carefully prepared foods while some of the most accomplished musicians in the Free Marches played sweet, gentle music.  Illyana had been to galas and balls as the Commander of Ferelden’s Army, but never a patron or guest; it was entirely unlike anything she had ever experienced before.

 

After dinner they retired to his Hightown estate, and Ilyana discovered a perfectly warm bath drawn for her with scented oils and flower petals resting on the surface of the water. As much as she’d enjoyed the day, she’d been holding on something she desperately wanted to tell Esteven,  but the man kept surprising her, stealing the words out of her mouth before she could form them. 

 

Before lowering herself into the large copper tub, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the large silver mirror against the wall. The mirror reflected the soft glow from the lit candles, lending the whole bathroom soothing glow. In that diffuse, golden light, she noted that there were more scars, and she no longer had girlish layer of fat. She was harder, leaner than she remembered, but she was still herself. 

 

Submerging into the warm, scented water washed her troubles away. She leaned back inhaling deeply, and she couldn’t think of a time in her life where she had been as happy or comfortable. The achy muscles and old pain from her time in Weisshaupt melted and she felt as if that life before was nothing more than a dream.

 

She closed her eyes content to purely soak long enough to doze off for a moment. She was brought back to consciousness at the sound of soft footsteps on stone. 

 

“Don’t worry, it is only me.” Esteven’s deep and melodic voice immediately calmed her. Her eyes fluttered open, and she smiled as the man she loved came to take a seat by the side of the bath.

 

“Thinking of joining me?” Ilyana grinned as she sat up and leaned her crossed arms on the side of the tub.

 

“In more ways than you could imagine,” he said breathlessly before he leaned in and kissed her neck tenderly. He withdrew and took delicate hand in his own, marvelling for a moment how much smaller it was than his.  How despite its calluses and scars her hand remained elegant, but there was more than that. Those scars and calluses spoke of a woman of strength and iron will, a woman who held his heart in those sure, beautiful hands.

 

“Mi amor, in all my life I had never expected someone such as you, and yet here you are.  You live in my heart for surely you own it. You claimed it, claimed me, my dear ‘Yana. I love you more everyday, though such a thing should be impossible.  And yet, everyday I wake to discover that I do.” Esteven exhaled slowly as if to steady himself, and for the first time since she had known him, Illyana thought he looked nervous.  He traced his hand along her jaw and down her neck and arm back to join his other hand still holding hers before reaching behind him. Then, with a swift motion he held out a platinum ring with floral filigree engraved into it.

 

“Ilyana Surana of Ferelden, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” Esteven asked, his brow glistening with a touch of sweat. His heart pounded the same as it did on any of his most daring adventures.

 

Taken by surprise, Ilyana’s heart almost ceased its beating. She never would’ve expected to hear  _ that _ question from his lips. She was left breathless and unprepared to respond. 

 

“Yes!” Was all Ilyana could manage to say.  She was stunned. A proposal of marriage wasn’t something she believed she’d ever hear, ever since being a small child in the Circle of Magi. She leapt from the bath into Esteven’s arms, wet and naked, wrapping her arms around and legs around him, and captured his lips with her own, wanting to drown in him, with him.

 

The water surged over the side of the tub, splashing on the floor.  Esteven lost his footing on the now slippery surface, and they pitched into the tub.  Esteven’s white tunic turned translucent and clung to the lines of his body. Together they laughed for a moment before he perched above her, with one hand holding the edge of the tub while his free hand slipped the ring onto her finger. 

 

“Wait!” she exclaimed before their affections could escalate further. She wished she had better timing wanting nothing more than to be carried away in that moment. The very promise of a future she had dreamed of brought her mind to the present, there would be no future without The Cure. Esteven pulled back, and rested his hands on Ilyana’s knees, a reassuring touch.

 

“There is something I must tell you.” Ilyana said.  She held his gaze with her violet eyes, a seriousness in the set of her mouth. 

 

“Did I do something wrong?” Esteven asked, his brows knit with worry.   Surprise played across Ilyana’s face, and she pressed one hand to his chest.

 

No, no no no, not at all.” She inhaled, focusing on the steady beat of his heart under her hand, solid and strong.. “I’m ready to do the cure.”

 

His face split into a wild grin.  “Is it finally time?”

 

“Yes, but,” she said, a warning lacing her voice, “you need to have your affairs in order. This is a dangerous spell and though I’m confident it will be a success, I’ve never done it before. Please do me the favor of being prepared.” She was immediately relieved when she finally let go of the news she’d been holding on to all day. After she spoke she wondered why she didn’t just say it with breakfast; it was a weight off her mind.

 

“Alright, I will ensure my affairs are in order tomorrow, but that is another day. Tonight my attentions are focused on a completely different matter…” His voice dropped low into almost a growl at the end. He pulled off his soaking wet tunic and leather breeches and drew Ilyana to him. 

 

Never in her life had she desired him more, she knew as once they were cured they had an entire lifetime together of shared nights together, but this would be the first time he was her betrothed and the very thought ignited a fire within herself that she had never known before.

  
  


***

 

“Today’s the day!” Blythe exclaimed as she leaped from their bed. Alistair groaned and covered his face with a pillow. She dressed quickly and grabbed the pillow from Alistair’s face. “I get up for every one of your  _ Kingly _ obligations, today they break ground for our first Royal Academy for children.”

 

“I know, I know, I’m up!” Alistair said.  Though he fully intended to get up, somehow he ended up rolling over and  hiding his head under the covers. Blythe folded her arms and cleared her throat. 

 

Blythe stood annoyed at her husband, she appreciated the work he’d put into his new fitness regimen but frustrated at his lack of enthusiasm for  _ their _ newest achievement. To be fair, his enthusiasm for training gave her plenty of time to herself to think and manage the logistics of  the first public school in Ferelden, but that didn’t mean she was going to let him be lazy or miss this important day.

 

“Fine, I’ll see you downstairs at breakfast in fifteen minutes or _ else _ ,” she threatened, and Alistair knew it was not an idle one.  He didn’t know what the  _ else _ would be, but it would be something suitably unfortunate.  Worse, he would  _ deserve  _ it.

 

After Blythe left Alistair rolled out of bed, groggy and fatigued. He’d been training without a day of rest for weeks. He was truly excited about the school opening, but he desperately wished he could sleep for another few hours.

 

Luckily, he had been on time to breakfast, avoiding the dreaded  _ else _ , and he, Blythe and the children had formed up for the royal procession.  Their path cut through the city with all the annoying but necessary pomp to the new school’s chosen location. The grounds for the school were across from the memorial statue of a griffon for the Hero of Ferelden. After giving a short speech introducing Blythe, he stood on the podium smiling through the polite applause.  Though he knew he should pay closer attention, his eyes were drawn to the memorial like iron to a lodestone, and he remembered--. 

 

_“So, you fought your first Darkspawn two days ago, pretty terrible, aren’t they? And here you are now, a Grey Warden.”_ _Alistair sat a little closer to Ilyana than he intended, and he didn’t mind. There was something calm and comforting about her presence despite the fact he barely knew her and had been warned about mages his entire life. They were due to fight alongside King Cailan and the Ferelden Army against the Darkspawn horde any day now. The few Darkspawn they encountered to gain blood for the Joining was just the beginning. The thought that chilled Alistair to the bone._

 

_ She nodded in agreement staring intensely at the fire. She still wore her pale green Circle robes. “They weren’t so bad... aside from the smell. You should’ve seen the giant spiders I cleared out before I-” She paused catching herself, “Before Duncan recruited me.” _

 

_ Silence hung between them for a moment,  making him feel uncomfortable, especially when he noticed how soft her face looked illuminated by firelight. “You’re a pretty good fighter. You’ve got good timing, you need to remember to stay behind me, I’ve got the sword and shield. It’s my job to protect you.” _

 

_ Ilyana smirked and raised one obsidian brow. “Protect me? I’m a Gray Warden now, too!” _

 

_ Realizing the error of what he’d said Alistair began to stammer, “Wha, wait. I didn’t mean it like that, it’s just that you’re a mage and you need to be careful of being hit, I wear armor to protect me… Maker’s breath.” Ilyana laughed and gently pushed Alistair’s shoulder, the soft clank of his armor plates touching rang out almost like a bell. _

 

_ “I’m sorry, I’m just giving you a tough time. You might be no stranger to harassing mages, and I’m equally experienced at harassing templars.” She grinned,laughter coloring her words. _

 

_ “I’m sure. Did you put jam in their boots or helmets?” Alistair looked across the fire and noticed that Duncan watched him and Ilyana, his smile was somewhere between contentment and a smirk. Alistair cleared his throat and sat up straighter. Duncan raised his eyebrows and walked away from the fire.  _

 

_ “There was never enough jam for that. But lake mud worked wonderfully.” Ilyana laughed. She inhaled deeply lifting her face to the night sky. “I’ve never been so free in my whole life. It’s so nice to feel the night air. Our time outside was pretty regulated.” _

 

_ “So, you’re telling me that a Circle Mage who’s spent their life locked in a tower wasn’t the tiniest bit afraid of their first Darkspawn?” Alistair asked. _

 

_ “Of course I was terrified!” Her eyes glittered as they welled, “But it was a hell of a lot less frightening than being threatened with being forced to become Tranquil.” _

 

_ In that moment, his heart ached for her, just a little.   He remembered how thankful he was when Duncan saved him from the Chantry. He felt imprisoned there as templar in training, but he couldn’t imagine what life was like for a mage. Just then  he felt immensely thankful that she was the one who survived joining. He looked forward to the campaign and the chance to fight by her side-- _

 

A loud bell rang out at the end of Blythe’s speech. The crowd  cheered and whooped. Alistair clapped enthusiastically, shelving his memories. The realization that he would only ever get to see Ilyana again in his memories left lingering trails of regret in his heart, but he wasn’t about to let that put a damper on Blythe’s triumph.  This was her day, and looking at her with her bright eyes and flushed cheeks, he felt a surge of pride for her. His wife, his queen, and the life they had together. It was not the one he had wanted years ago, but it was a good one regardless. 

 

He took Blythe’s hand and kissed it gently before the crowd, which caused them to only cheer more. He fought beside Ilyana, but he ruled with Blythe and when he looked upon the adoring crowd he savored this victorious moment. He marvelled at the months of hard work she labored to see this day come to fruition. She was the hero he needed.

 

Blythe, still holding Alistair’s hand tightly pulled him off the podium and down to the crowd, she whispered joyously in his ear, “We did it my love! We’re forging the first Kingdom that will treat its subjects as a family! We did it!” 

 

***

 

The midday summer sun baked the Hightown stone streets reflecting light giving the district an almost ethereal glow. Raban shaded his eyes as he stood outside Esteven’s Hightown Estate.  Normally he would enter without pause, but he felt a ball of guilt sitting firmly in his chest preventing him from simply turning the knob and entering the manor. 

 

“You know, my friend, doors work better if you go through them.  They do you no good if you stand in front of them.” The booming joyous voice of Esteven startled Raban enough that he jumped in place.

 

“Thank you for accepting my request, come walk with me.” Esteven patted his friend on the back and waved a hand for Raban to follow him.

 

“Esteven, I’m…” Raban began, sheepish.

 

Esteven dismissed Raban’s attempt at an apology. “Raban, tonight Ilyana is going to cure me of the Taint and then soon we will be wed.  Now, my friend, I know you will say this is sudden, it is too much, but I would be honored if you would stand for me as witness.” 

Raban stopped in his tracks, stunned and breathless. “Do you mean it? Even what I said when I left?”

 

A sudden belly laugh erupted from Esteven, and he slapped his friend heartily on the back. “Raban, we have known each other too long to let one disagreement sour our friendship.  . Illyana holds my heart, my friend, but you have always had my back. You will always be my First Mate.”

 

“You’re a mad man,” Raban groused, glaring up at the mountain of a man he had followed for years.  Then he sighed, his shoulders slumping. He ran a hand over his face, trying to reconcile his world view with the knowledge that the little elven mage made his oldest friend happy.  Happy and possibly free of the curse in his blood. “But there’s never been any stopping you before, so it seems I have no choice but to accept.” 

 

“There’s one more thing,” Esteven added after they released each other. “The company is your should anything happen to me. You know how I run the operation, you helped me build it. This cure is dangerous and I need to know what we built will remain in good hands should the worse happen.”

 

“You can always trust in me, and...for you my friend, I will make an effort with her.” Raban clasped Esteven’s shoulder and gave him a quick firm embrace. 

 

“That’s all I can ask.” Esteven replied.

 

When they continued their walk Raban asked, “So, you’re finally going to do it? I never thought I’d see the day when you’d settle down.”

 

“Honestly, my friend. I never thought I’d see the day either, but I’m so lucky that it’s finally time.”

 

***

 

When the sun ducked beyond the horizon Esteven joined Ilyana in her study. She had created a ring of strongest cleansing runes she had ever constructed. The air was thick with incense and lit by a ring of candles. Inside the ring was a goblet, a vial and several bottles of glowing blue lyrium potions. The tables that normally obstructed most of the room were lining the walls creating ample space for the spell.

 

Without words, Esteven wrapped his arms around Ilyana holding her tightly breathing the scent of her in. His mind was filled of dreams of the future he was about to unlock.. He fantasized about sailing to Rivain, bringing her home to Antiva, exploring the wonders of Orlais to return home time after time, each return a little older and grayer.  He had never thought the prospect of growing old could be so compelling, but with her it was. The fantasies calmed his nerves as he savored the moment. Ilyana tightened her arms around him, burying her face in his chest in an attempt to smother her fear. She believed she was ready, but the stakes were almost too high to try. Her life had taken such unexpected turns, and she was so close to perfect.  Free of the Taint, a man she loved, and then to reclaim her daughter. 

 

“Don’t be afraid, mi amor. You’re the strongest most brilliant person I’ve ever met.” Esteven kissed the top of her head. “And I’ve met a lot of people.” He grinned, then, as he went from holding her tightly to tickling her ribs for second. She giggled, but was unable to shake off her concern. 

 

“Are you ready?” Ilyana asked staring up at his piercing blue eyes. Esteven nodded smiling. 

 

“Shall we?” He asked and Ilyana led him into the circle of runes. She gestured for him kneel, and then she followed suit.. Once he was kneeling Ilyana raised her hands to the sky, closed her fists and pulled on the Fade, activating the runes. They created a greenish gold fade barrier around the circle. She released her hands and took the small vial of blood and poured it into the grey mixture in the chalice. She emptied and elfroot potion in as well. While whispering a magical incantation the mixture inside the goblet combined and glowed a fiery red before calming. 

 

Prompted by Ilyana, Esteven took the chalice and drank from it hastily. The concoction was hot and sticky down his throat and tasted like bloody grass and bad alcohol. He gagged in an attempt to keep the elixir down. Ilyana uncorked a lyrium potion and drank down the entire bottle. The lyrium felt like fire in her blood and her lungs burned. 

 

Grabbing her staff, Ilyana rose to her feet, the runes floating in the air to match her. She reached for the fade again summoning all of her strength into the spell she had designed.  It would not only cleanse the Taint that flowed through him, it would also heal the damage that had been wrought upon the body. She knelt back down and placed her hand on Esteven’s chest.

 

“I’m sorry, this is going to hurt.” Ilyana whispered, her brows low and dark serious eyes, the hollow space behind her heart felt like it was going to swallow her whole.

 

“Do what you must, mi amor.” he replied with a smile.  He placed his hands over her own, holding them to his chest for a moment before letting them go to do what she would.

 

From her core, Ilyana summoned all of the fortitude she had and began channelling the runes’ magic through her into Esteven. His eyes widened as every orifice began to glow the same gold-green from the barrier that surrounded them. Esteven threw back his head and let out a howl of pain unlike anything Ilyana had ever heard. It stilled her heart and chilled her bones. She maintained contact with his chest continuing to funnel the magic to him.

 

Esteven screamed.  The pain was excruciating, and it was as if every vein was on fire. He could see nothing but white and hear nothing but the roar of The Calling in his mind. Locked into the spell, he hung from Ilyana’s grip while wave after wave of magic coursed through him. 

 

When she released him, Esteven crumpled to the ground and wailed in agony. His breathing came in labored pants,, his skin flushed and he was covered in a cold sweat. Ilyana gently placed a hand on his arm, his skin burning with the magic inside of him.  Carefully, she gently rolled him onto his side. Black blood seeped down his face from his nostrils, mouth, eyes and ears. She began to cast healing spell after healing spell, but still his cries continued. 

 

Esteven crawled forward whimpering in pain.  Blindly, he writhed, knocking a bottle of lyrium,its blue glowing liquid spilling across Ilyana’s spell books. She pushed the books aside and grabbed the elfroot potion and brought the bottle to his lips, and instinctively he drank from the bottle. His eyes cleared and he could see again.

 

“Ilyana,” he croaked, reaching out to her. “There was nothing but The Song… it’s still there but just at the edges..” 

 

She softly stroked his head while wiping the black blood from his face with a handkerchief. His rich tan skin looked ashen and pale as if all of the color had been stolen from him. His heart beat began to slow from it’s rapid pace, and he reached up to touch Ilyana’s cheek. 

 

“Mi amor, to be by your side is the greatest blessing I’ve ever had in this life.” Esteven’s voice was quiet and raspy. 

 

But his moment of lucidity was not to last.  Suddenly, his body became rigid as he seized. He rolled onto his side as he began to cough up tremendous amounts of blood. Ilyana’s stomach sank in horror.  Frantically, she tried to heal him, but there was no change. Blood, red-black and thick, pooled around them. Ilyana reached for her books, madly flipping through the pages, but she could not find anything that would help.

 

Then she turned to the book that had been drenched in lyirum.  It emitted a timid glow, and as she scoured the pages she noticed writing that sprang to life in white glowing ink.  Writing that had previously been hidden from her sight. Panic descended over her like a rogue wave overtaking a ship in a storm. Her heart raced, and the sick acidic feeling in her stomach rose to her chest as she flipped to the section on the potion and read furiously. Her heart sank into her belly as she realized what she’d missed. In her pride, she didn’t even think to check the tome for hidden sections. She looked up from the book to see Esteven whimpering, covered in his blood. 

 

“Mi...amor.” His words were barely audible between his labored breath. Ilyana threw the book aside and crawled to Esteven placing his head in her lap.

 

“I’m sorry, my love, my love, my heart… I…” Her voice broke as tears streamed down her face in fat drops.. Desperate, she reached into the Fade, sending a thrum of cool, healing magic through his body in one last attempt to try to fix this.  It was like her magic hit a black wall of nothing, and the shock of it staggered her. 

 

“I’m… afraid I have been Tainted… to long.” Esteven wheezed and gasped for air. “Twenty years is a long time to carry this curse.”

 

“No, Esteven. My love, it’s…” Ilyana tried to force the truth from her lips, but her sobs stole her voice from her.

 

Weakly, he extended a hand and touched her face. He smiled, blood matted his beard and long hair. “Mi amor. I have loved you since we met, and I will take my love of you with me to the Maker’s side. I’m afraid I no longer have the privilege of staying beside yours.”

 

“No… no, no...I can heal you, I can fix this,” she pleaded.Esteven shook his head. 

 

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can make it much longer,” he whispered. Blood ran from his eyes, a dark echo of Illyana’s tears.. “At least now, I know I never have to worry about losing you.” He attempted a laugh, but coughed instead.

 

“Thank you for giving me the best days of my life, my love.” Esteven whispered before he finally went limp in Ilyana’s arms.

 

“You can’t leave me! Esteven! No! Come back to me!” she cried as she gasped for breath. “Come back to me, please! Maker please! Maker please!” she wailed. She drowned in sorrow, his body a rock dragging her under tempest-spun waves, and she did not fight it.  . Rejection, isolation, torture, and now the deep emptiness threatened to swallow her whole. She cast healing spell after healing spell until she drained herself completely. Her sobs echoed through the mansion, with only silence as the reply.


	12. The Return

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge and heartfelt thank you goes out to Zinjadu for being MEGA BETA and incredibly awesome. She has a great series about her Warden, Caitwyn Tabris called [**The Long Way Home**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14613042)! Please give it a read!

 

Fall had returned to Ferelden, a blessed relief after a long hot summer. The cool and lengthening nights, red and gold leaves, warm noon sun, and soupy fogged mornings accompanied the harvests lifted the spirits of the city of Denerim. 

 

Along the dirty cobblestone boulevards of the city, a long haired white and grey retriever trotted inconspicuously, hugging the shadows as it traversed the city streets. When the dog reached the central market square, it was confronted by the massive golden griffon statue standing tall with its wings spread for a flight it would never take. It sat on the edge on the plaza and watched the midday bustle.

 

A young peasant woman crossed the square leading some odd twenty small children to the statue. In the woman’s hands were a bouquet of wildflowers and a single flower in the hand of each of the children. With reverence she approached the statue, laying the flowers at the griffon’s feet. One by one the children each placed their flower at the base of the statue and returned to standing beside their guardian.

 

“This. is for the Hero of Ferelden.  She saved all our lives, and when she answered the call to her Order she was killed by an abomination,” the young peasant woman explained to the children. “Our king, Alistair Thierin, who helped the Hero of Ferelden slay the Archdemon, built this memorial so Denerim would never forget who came to Thedas’s aid when we needed her most.”  The children gazed up at the woman in wonder, and she graced them with a bittersweet smile.

 

“ I saw her,” the woman continued.  “I was a little girl not much older than all of you, but I remember it clearly. Darkspawn were beating down our door and I watched from the upstairs window, and she ran up, sword and shield in hand and she cast magic from that sword. I was told to fear magic my entire life, but it was magic that saved my family. She did the Maker’s work.” 

 

A small boy raised his hand. “Miss Iris! My pa saw the King and the Hero slay two ogres right before his eyes!” 

 

The teacher smiled at her students. “Yes, they did much for all of us. Come, we have a few more stops on our field trip today.” She waved for the group of children to follow her as she began to leave the square. The children all clasped hands without being prompted and continued on their trip through the city.

 

After the children departed the square the dog approached the statue sniffing the base thoroughly before it went on it’s way.

 

***

 

A small red hawk circled above the courtyard. Chaska laid on her stomach on a stone garden bench with a book between her hands and legs kicking in the air. She was a gawky youth, her face losing the last of its childish plumpness, but she was far off being counted an adult.  Suddenly losing interest in her book, she sighed loudly and let the tome drop to the stone tile below her bench.

 

Her eyes narrowed as the hot autumn sun beat down in an almost blinding brightness.  Peering upwards, she noticed a small red hawk wheeling high above. She couldn’t be certain, but she thought it might be the same one that she’d  seen all week whenever she was in the garden or courtyard. Even on her daily runs and training with her father, she’d seen the hawk. 

 

Chaska whistled at the hawk, it turned its head at her and stared down. She felt uneasy being the object of the predator’s gaze, wondering why it was hanging around the castle. She was used to the normal brown hawks, but this one stood apart from the rest with its rusty feathers. She sat up, grabbing her book pressing it against her chest as she folded her arms around it. She looked back up to the bird and swore to herself that she saw it while she was studying with Blythe and Duncan in the library. She shrugged off the spectating hawk and headed inside.

 

***

 

A small red hawk perched itself on the cold stone window sill. It craned its head around examining the king’s private study. A stack of papers obscured the massive oak desk, the king’s old armor from the Fifth Blight arranged on a stand in the left corner. With a puff of black smoke feathers rusty feathers turned into ivory skin, black hair, blue silk and leather breeches. 

 

Ilyana Surana shuddered as she regained her true form, the cool damp evening air gave her a moment’s chill. Returning to Alistair’s study after half a decade of being away, she felt even more hollow and estranged than the night she’d departed. The suit of armor in the corner caught her eye, she crossed the room to examine it more thoroughly. Upon approaching the armor she immediately recognized it as the very dragon scale armor she’d had crafted for Alistair after they returned to from the Temple of Sacred Ashes. 

 

While Ilyana hid from the world in Kirkwall she’d taken up residence at the Hanged Man, a notorious inn known for its colorful clientele and discreet staff. She had taken most of her meals in her room as she perfected the potion for The Cure, but about once a week she’d have dinner and a few drinks at the tavern.  She would listen to the patrons tell each other of their lives and what news they had of the world. It was one of those nights she learned of the explosion of the Temple of Sacred Ashes that created the Breach, and followed the Inquisition’s exploits and successes:against Corypheus, the Mage Rebellion and subsequent Mage Templar war. Seeing Alistair’s armor on display reminded her that the temple was gone, just like her home, the Circle. She felt ill thinking about it, light headed and a knot behind her heart. 

 

With the tip of her index finger, she traced the gashes in the chest plate, remembering the battles where each mark was earned. She was like the armor, useful and purposeful for another time and place that has past. Her daughter had found a stable, safe, loving home with her father and his wife, the army was under expert command with Harion, Thedas had new heroes and villains who shook the world. The world was twelve years past the Fifth Blight, and in truth that was a relief. 

 

Deciding it was time to leave before she was seen, Ilyana crossed back to the window. She believed this was not the night to contact Alistair. She wasn’t ready. The sound of footsteps reached her and she froze like an animal, the waxing moon’s light illuminated the desk from the window behind it. 

 

“I’ll be to bed in a bit, dear. No, Chaska, Duncan, go to bed! Listen to your mother!” Alistair called out behind him.  Pulling his heavier wool cloak around him with one hand and holding a lantern with the other, he swung open the door to his study in a swift gesture. 

 

Before Ilyana could escape the room, there she stood across from Alistair Theirin. Her heart felt as if it would beat out of her chest, icey panic ran from the crown of her head to the soles of her feet. Words refused to from on her lips, locked in a moment of paralysis.

 

Alistair couldn’t believe his eyes.  Mouth agape, he stared at her as if he had been frozen to the spot.  He quickly shut the door behind him. It was as if all of the air in his lungs was stolen from him. The world swayed as he asked himself if what he saw was real and not some delusion of his tired mind. When he steeled himself he caught himself with a hand on his desk.

 

“Yana? How?” he breathed. “Maker’s breath, you… you’re alive?” He asked setting the lantern on the smooth polished oak desktop. His eyes were fixed on Ilyana. 

 

Ilyana unsure and unprepared she responded,  “Yes.” She felt being affirmative was a good start, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

 

Alistair, now confident it was her and not a figment, his heart sank and a bitterness filled his mouth when he realized the ramifications of her arrival. Was she there to take Chaska? Ilyana could see the pain in Alistair’s face.

 

“I’m here as a friend, I spent most of my absence hunting and studying the Cure, I return to you with the the results of my efforts.” She spoke, her tones stony and impersonal. It was all she could do to speak at all. 

 

Relief coursed through him. “You found the Cure?” Having countless questions he desired to ask at once, “Is that where you’ve been?”

 

She nodded. “Yes, after I escaped Weishaupt.”

 

Alistair took a step toward the desk, a step toward her. “Escaped?”

 

He immediately regretted asking, watching as dark memories clouded Ilyana’s face. He knew that face, the face she made anytime anyone brought up Kinloch Circle with her.

 

She forcefully exhaled returning to the present. “That’s a tale for another time.” She offered a sincere smile. “Alistair, I’ve come only to offer you the Cure if you want it. It’s very dangerous and takes a few days to prepare and you’ll require a few days to recover, if it works.” 

 

Her violet eyes studied Alistair carefully. “You appear to have maintained yourself well, which you’ll need-”

 

Focusing on the words  _ if it works, _ he interrupted her. “ _ If _ it works? What happens if it doesn’t?”

 

Her chin trembled a short moment before she regained her composure, burying her unyielding guilty sorrow. “You die. It’s very dangerous, and the shock of losing the  _ Song _ could be lethal on its own.” 

 

Alistair paused in consideration. He watched the distance in her gaze, sadness coloring her voice, and the downward pull on the sides of her mouth. Her expression told him more than anything she’d said in the entire conversation. 

 

“You’ve seen this first hand, I take it?” It was at that moment he realized that  _ she  _  had undergone the Cure.  He hadn’t been able to sense her at all, the way all Grey Wardens could sense each other and Darkspawn. Realizing that, he took a moment to study her closely.   She was smaller and leaner than he remembered. Scars peaked through the bottom of her sleeves onto the back of her hands. Her cheeks were hollow and the darkness under her eyes spoke of many sleepless nights. 

 

Ilyana nodded in response. She wasn’t ready to talk about it, so she changed the tack of the conversation. “You’ve done a great job of raising Chaska, thank you for being the parent she needs.” She looked down to hide the tears welling in her eyes. 

 

“I would’ve done more. Ilyana, I--” He struggled to find the core of what he wanted to say. He wanted to to hear it from her: why she kept Chaska from him in the beginning, even though he knew the reasons. 

 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I’m sorry about a lot of things, but we were young and we were scared and did our best with what we had.” She offered a warm and sad smile, “Alistair, I’m not here to disassemble your life. You’ve earned what you have, and I would have you keep it and live more than twenty years, enjoying your life. I’m here to cure you and then I will be gone. If the world thinks I’m dead, then let them continue to do so.  It’ll be better that way.”

 

It was almost too much for Alistair, his heart ached in pain for his friend. She’d endured much, it was evident in how she spoke, and in her stillness. “Yana, I can’t thank you enough for returning to cure me. Don’t you want to see Chaska?”

 

Swallowing back tears Ilyana shook her head. “It’s not the wisest decision, all things considered. It will take possibly a week or more to prepare the Cure. I will need you to visit me once a day in order to conduct tests, the success of the Cure depends on this phase. When it’s time, we’ll complete the ritual, and when you’ve recovered I will leave. I’ve already set up a laboratory for myself in the old north tower where you’ve been housing Anora’s old belongings.”

 

“This is so like you, to just show up, with all the answers, fixing things and--” Alistair cut himself off, it started as a joke, but quickly became an indictment and the rest of the sentence was ‘and not think about everyone’s feelings in the matter.’ but he realized she really was trying to do her best with everyone’s feelings in mind. 

 

He cleared his throat. “When should I meet you for these  _ tests _ ?”

 

“After breakfast.” she replied. She turned to the window but before she could step toward it, Alistair took her hand in his, an impulse he couldn’t suppress.

 

“Yana, it’s good to see you.” His eyes softened and gave her a bittersweet smile. Despite their tangled history, at their core, they would always be friends.

 

“It’s good to see you too.” She returned the smile, the walls of ice that caged her heart thawed a little for the first time since Esteven’s death.  Quickly she withdrew her hand and in the same puff of smoke as before she transformed into the red hawk and flew out the open window. 

 

Awestruck Alistair stood with his mouth wide.  She still managed to astound him after all this time. 

  
  


***

 

Blythe sat up in bed, the sconce above her nightstand illuminated, casting a warm orange light over her head. Her hands were wrapped tightly around a leather bound book, her mind completely engrossed in the contents. 

 

The door to the royal suite creaked open, and Alistair slipped in without a word. He glanced over at Blythe in bed.  She hadn’t noticed him enter. He pulled off his clothes and slipped under the sheets. He lay staring at the ceiling, unsure of how to bring up the conversation he had to have.

 

“What are you reading? Another treatise on education?” Alistair asked, fatigue colored his voice. Blythe leaned over and kissed Alistair on the forehead. 

 

“No! Actually!” she replied excitedly.  “Apparently Varric Tethrys, the author of  Swords and Shields, passed the series onto a new author, a Jaimessen Autur Thominson.”

 

“Oh. Is it good?” he politely asked, his mind heavy with the Cure and revelation that Ilyana wasn’t dead.  That she had been alive all this time. All these years.

 

Excited she sat up straight. “Yes! This’s the best one yet! You  _ must _ read this when I’m finished. Who am I kidding? I’ll just have Tierie grab you a copy! Oh, I should give Chaska her own copy because she’s not getting this back.”

 

“Isn’t Sword and Shields a romance series? Don’t you think Chaska’s a little young to be reading that kind of material?” he asked absently. Blythe closed the book and looked down at her husband. She was about to scold him for being an overbearing parent, but she could see his brows knit together and the frown across his face.

 

“Honey, what’s wrong? What happened?” She dropped her book in her lap; her attention focused on her husband.

 

Heaving a sigh Alistair sat up so he could maintain better eye contact with Blythe. “I have news.” He swallowed hard. “How do I say this?”

 

Blythe smirked, “Using words typically helps.”

 

Alistair shrugged her dig aside. “Ilyana’s not dead. She’s  _ here _ .”

 

Blythe wasted no time with her shock. “Has she come for Chaska?” Her smugness melted into genuine concern taking Alistair’s hand into hers.

 

“No. She hasn’t come for Chaska, she’s here to cure me of the Taint. I will be free from being a Warden,” Alistair said gravely.

 

Knowing there was something else Alistair was withholding, Blythe’s blue eyes darted left and right looking for answers in his face. “Okay… then what’s wrong?”

 

“It’s very dangerous and there’s a chance I might not survive the spell. We have to have everything prepared for you to serve as regent until Duncan comes of age.” He tried to be as calm as possible despite the riot he felt in his heart and head.

 

The news hit Blythe harder than she was prepared for. She felt like she was sinking. “Oh, I’m leaving in Redcliffe for two weeks.  I should postpone it. The schools can wait if my husband needs me.”

 

He smiled and kissed her hand. “That’s not necessary, the Cure should be completed before you leave. There’s no reason to alter your plans.”

 

Alistair rested his head in Blythe’s lap and she gently stroked his short, sandy hair. The deep well of guilt rested on his heart as he thought of the return of Ilyana. His mind drifted like a pendulum between joyful at her return and remorse as he drifted to sleep. His slumber was fitfull and that night he dreamed again of the Landsmeet and taking Loghain’s head. 

  
  


***

  
  


Alistair ascended the narrow stairs to the abandoned tower, the conversations he’d had with Blythe running over again in his mind. She was  _ supportive _ of the Cure and didn’t protest to having Ilyana claim a tower for the work. She expressed explicit concern over the spell’s success and safety, but stayed quiet about everything else. Blythe was most concerned about establishing more Royal Ferelden Schools for Children in more towns, as the school in Denerim was a resounding success.

 

There wasn’t a door at the top of the stairs, instead it was an open floor. Alistair took a moment to marvel at how much effort Ilyana had made with the space that had previously been full of old furnishings, clothes and general clutter from left from Anora’s rule. He guessed that he probably hadn’t been up to this tower for more than three years at the least. 

 

Ilyana had used the tables for desk space for her books, jars of herbs, and a rainbow’s assortment of liquids. She’d laid out the rolled up rugs, covering the ancient stone floor, uncovered the upholstered chairs and the long chaise was set beside the table.

 

“Come take a seat over there, you should be comfortable as possible.” She gestured toward the chaise with a tilt of her head while her arms were filled with bottles of varying shapes, sizes and contents. 

 

As he approached the seat he asked, “Can I give you a hand with anything?” She shook her head in response. He studied her closely, and though she looked less grave in the sunlight, her deep weariness was still evident. She took a seat at the edge of the long bench beside the chaise where he reclined. 

 

“Would you please roll up your sleeve? Or does your highness need someone to do it for him?” she teased, a smirk playing across her face, like it used to.  

 

“That cuts deep, you know.” Alistair responded sarcastically.   Then he attempted to roll up his sleeve, but found the fabric was stuck on his forearm. “Looks like I need some new shirts made. I’ve been in mostly summer clothes since I started training again.” He pulled his tunic over his head to reveal a broader and more defined physique than he had over a decade ago when fighting darkspawn was the entire purpose of his life.

 

Ilyana grinned. “I see you didn’t take the path of the fat and lazy monarch.” she quipped as she opened a small box and withdrew a small pointed blade. She quickly cleansed it with a small fire spell.

 

“Actually, I did, but my wife ridiculed me so much I decided to do something about it. Wait, what are you going to do with that knife?” Alistair went from gloating to concerned in the span of a blink. His heart began to quicken it’s pace as his calm confidence cracked.

 

“I’m sorry, but unfortunately, I need a few drops of your blood to test the attunement of the potion.” She wiped the nook of his elbow with a wet cloth looking at his veins.

 

“You never said anything about blood magic! You’ve come to Cure me, sure, but neglect to mention the--Ow!” Alistair winced at being jabbed with the needle blade, looking away. His distress was quickly squelched by a quick healing spell she cast. The scent of vanilla and frankincense filled his nostrils and for the length of a heartbeat he was staring at the only surviving rose in Lothering.

 

“What do you think the Joining is?  _ Not _ blood magic?” She teased, taking the vial of his blood and added a few drops into the cauldron on the table. “You may dress yourself, now.”

 

He pulled his tunic back over his head. “Now what? How long do we wait until we know it’s ready?”

 

A large puff of smoke came from the cauldron and Ilyana sighed. “That’s how we know it’s not right. I apparently have some work ahead, but you should go about your day.  Come see me tomorrow, and we’ll try again.”

 

He nodded. “Oh, okay then. I’ll have the servants bring you meals. You can’t do dangerous magic all day on an empty stomach… and you better eat it.” he commanded

 

She tilted her head in surprise at his seriousness. “As you wish.” She smiled at his concern and shooed Alistair away so she could get back to work.

  
  


***

 

The next morning Alistair came to Ilyana again, and knowing the routine he promptly rolled up his sleeve on his right arm as he took a seat on the chaise. It was the hottest day they’d had in some time, and Ilyana wore a short sleeved blouse with open sleeves. She still had to add a few ingredients before she was ready to draw blood again, so he sat and watched her work. As she vigorously churned the contents of the cauldron he caught sight of the beginning of some of her more visible scars from Weisshaupt on her back.

 

“So, lovely subject, but what happened to you at Weisshaupt?” Only his third day with her in his life again and already he felt the return of the same ease around her that reminded him of the days of the Fifth Blight.

 

She finished churning the contents and began to speak, ducking his gaze as she prepared the needle blade. “Oh, well.” She sighed forcefully. “They tortured me repeatedly until I was on the brink of death, healed me enough to survive so I could endure the same the next day. They did this for six months until Morrigan rescued me,” she said casually as she quickly jabbed the blade into his vein and withdrew a vial of blood.

 

Alistair was left speechless from the horror of what she said. “Wh--why would they do that to you? Maefrath’s Beard, they sent a letter saying you were killed by an abomination running rampant through the fortress.”

 

Ilyana added a few drops of blood to the potion. She remained cool and calm as she continued. “I refused to tell them how we survived slaying the Archdemon. There was no abomination, just two really angry mages. I wasn’t my most merciful self that day.”

 

He reached out for her hand, but quickly withdrew it. He stared at her with horror of realizing what she’d endured on his face.“I’m sure they didn’t deserve much mercy. Why didn’t you come back? Why didn’t you send word?” 

 

She sighed again and looked at him “I did send a raven.” The tragedy of the sudden realization of how her absence affected those she knew hit her like a stone fist to her chest. “But I guess it never made it. While I was in the prison I came into possession of a book that lead me through the Deep Roads and to a--” She paused unsure to describe where she went. “--to a library on the edge of Thedas that held the answers to the Cure. When I was there, I was so far from everything I couldn’t send word about where I was.”

 

He pulled his tunic back on and actually took her hand this time. “I’m glad Morrigan came to your aid, she’s saved us a few times now, hasn’t she. Have you met--”

 

“Kieran?”  She smiled at the memory of meeting him, forgetting Alistair held her hand.  “Yes, over five years ago, and he was a wonderful boy. I wish I could’ve been half the mother she was.”

 

“You did great, especially considering the circumstances. And, Chaska’s the light of my life.” His eyes tingled and felt hot as they welled.

 

Ilyana, feeling self-conscious, withdrew her hand and as she turned to face the cauldron, a thick black puff of smoke erupted and the potion was calm again. She frowned and folded her arms across her chest.

 

“See you, tomorrow?” he asked, timidly and she nodded in response.

 

***

 

The hours ticked past and when the sun sat lower in the sky, there was a soft knock on the doorframe. Ilyana, with her head buried in a book, didn’t turn around as she called out, “Come in.”

 

“Do you have a moment? I brought some cookies and tea.” The soft melodic voice startled Ilyana, and she turned around to see Queen Blythe carrying a tray of cookies and tea. She wore a light maroon gown and her mass of curls were tied back.

 

Ilyana rose to her feet and gestured for Blythe to take a seat at the two brocade chairs where a small table was placed between them. “Yes, of course, make yourself comfortable.”

 

Blythe set the tray on the small table and took a seat in the large cushioned chair. With a smile Ilyana took a seat across from Blythe and took a nibble of a cookie. “Thank you, these are delicious.  Now, what can I do for you?”

 

“I wanted to thank you for what you’re doing.” She studied Ilyana carefully. She noted how much had changed in the woman who sat across from her. So much so, that Blythe felt the sting of pity for the elven mage.

 

“I’m doing what I believe is right.  We were Wardens together, and if I found a way to free myself, I should free my friend and fellow Warden.” Ilyana offered a diplomatic reply. She felt anxious in the Queen’s presence. She no longer had an army at her back, and in reality, never truly did.

 

Smiling after taking a sip of her tea, Blythe continued. “That’s not all, you two were friends and you want to do the best for your daughter. You really should see her, she’s wonderful. You should see how strong and brilliant she’s become. You raised a truly special young lady.”

 

“I think it’s more that she became a truly special young lady in the face of having a mother who wasn’t there, until she met you.” Ilyana set her tea cup down on the small wooden table. She’d watched Chaska for a week before Alistair found her in his study.  Seeing Chaska healthy and happy brought Ilyana a mountain of joy and pain. Her daughter had grown so much, and Ilyana had missed every step, every milestone. A frown pulled down the ends of lips. She suddenly felt as though maybe spending all those years from Ferelden were ultimately selfish. The ache came in waves of pangs in her heart.

 

Blythe’s heart broke hearing Ilyana refute her positive influence. She could see Ilyana doing her best hiding her shame, and she felt it too. She watched how the Taint had been slowly poisoning Alistair, and the weekly nightmares of Darkspawn. She was not so sure she wouldn’t have done the same if she was in Ilyana’s position.

 

“Ilyana, I don’t blame you for hunting the Cure, and neither would Chaska if you saw her.” She sighed. “I should let you get back to it.  I’m praying for your spell’s success.” Blythe stood from the brocade chair.

 

Ilyana rose with Blythe and took both of her hands into hers. With red and tear glistened eyes, she swore, “You have my word that I will not stop until I’m sure the spell will be a success.” Blythe pulled in Ilyana and tightly embraced her.

 

“I know you will. I know you will.” She repeated as she comforted Ilyana.

  
  


***

 

Alistair sat in the chaise.  It was the fifth day he’d come and sat for Ilyana’s potions tests. She’d added the blood to the potion and somehow they had meandered into one of their more light hearted memories of the Blight.

 

“And then Shale said, ‘Is this when it spurts blood everywhere and screams while waving its arms about?’ and I kid you not- I saw her smile, that was right before she stomped on a genlock’s head.” Alistair’s cheeks ached from smiling so enthusiastically for the last hour.

 

Ilyana was doubled over laughing, clutching her sides. “Then Oghren yelled, ‘WARDEN! I  _ am _ the liquor!’ after I asked for a flask of healing potion.” She fell back against the table. She laughed so hard she could barely catch her breath. “Oh, I can’t breathe!”

 

Curled into his own ball of laughter, Alistair could barely make a sound. He hadn’t laughed that hard, well, since Chaska put a toad in Duncan’s hat at the Summerday Gala. Alistair calmed his breath and stretched out on the chaise with a wide radiating grin. He thought to himself, how this was the first time his castle held everyone he loved.  He felt simple and sure relief laughing with Ilyana again.

 

She pulled herself upright. “Whooo. Who knew the Deep Roads were going to be so much fun?”

 

After the laughter died down, Alistair studied Ilyana. Since her return, he’d seen her covered sadness. His own heart broke every time he’d see it peak out, the way her smiles quickly faded, the slight curve of her spine in place of the proud posture he remembered. He couldn’t overlook it anymore. “‘Yana, something happened, and it wasn’t just Weisshaupt.”

 

Ilyana inhaled a deep breath and sighed. She closed her eyes tightly gathering strength.“I know you’re just going to keep asking me until I tell you.”

 

“That cuts deep! I’m hurt. You know I would respect your privacy.” Alistair said mockingly.

 

A grin spread across her face before swiftly fading.  “No you won’t, but I just haven’t spoke of it to anyone.”

 

“Isn’t it better to share the burden with friends?” He leaned forward giving her his undivided attention. She smiled and nodded. She didn’t think she’d ever been so lucky to have a friend again, let alone  _ his _ friendship.

 

“All right. After I’d spent over a year searching for the Cure at the Library, I’d finally figured out the spell and most of the recipe for the potion part. When the Library’s...Steward? He’s an ancient Elvhen, named Ghilisenatha. He was what my people  _ used  _ to be like before you humans ruined us,” she snarked.

 

“I feel personally attacked.” Alistair said with a straight face.

 

She waved his righteous indignation away. “He left for a trip and his friend an, Antivan Gray Warden, took charge of the castle in Ghilis’ absence. He’d left the Order for his own reasons and we became close, Esteven and I. He brought me back to his Kirkwall Estate to finish my studies there and he helped me gather the ingredients I needed for the Cure. It was the happiest I’d been since... Anyway, for one wonderful day he was my betrothed.”

 

Alistair, captivated by her tale, was surprised by the hot tinge of jealousy he felt at the back of his heart; a jealousy he knew he had no right to feel. “You were engaged?  To be married?”

 

She nodded. “The next day I was to do the Cure on him, and…” Her heart sank to the floor.  She was momentarily paralyzed recalling what happened next. She had dreamed of it nightly in Kirkwall, though not as much in recent weeks. 

 

“I failed. There were things I overlooked and I took the life of my friend, the man I loved. I never thought I’d fall in love again, I never believed I would be happy again, but I was wrong.” She struggled to fight back tears and before long they broke from her anyway. Overwhelmed by the desire to comfort her, Alistair joined Ilyana on the bench wrapping his strong arms around her. She sobbed into his shoulder the way she had after returning to Kinloch Hold, the first time she had witnessed the destruction of her world. He couldn’t fathom the pain and guilt of what she’d experienced. Seeing her so weighed by guilt he wished he could carry it for her.

 

He lifted his gaze to the cauldron on the table and saw the contents emit a soft white glow. “‘Yana, the potion is--glowing.” he said low in a soothing voice.

 

Ilyana broke from the embrace and turned to the glowing cauldron. She turned back to Alistair and gravely said, “It’s ready, it’s time.”


	13. The Cure, The Remedy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally ready, Alistair undergoes the Cure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Chapter wouldn’t be possible without the tireless efforts Zinjadu as a beta and editor. She’s the creator of [**The Long Way Home**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14613042)! It’s an incredible story about her Warden Caitwyn, please take the time to check it out!

 

Alistair awoke with knowledge that this could be his final day. It wasn’t the first time he faced imminent doom, and he grinned as he hoped it wouldn’t be the last time- _either_. The thought chilled his bones and hollowed his heart until he remembered Ilyana was with him before and was again. The thought of her calmed his inner unrest reminding him of his own strength. Ready to meet his day, he rolled from bed and began his usual warm up routine of mixed calisthenics.

 

Lost in thought, he sat on the throne with only half an ear for the matter before him. The mosaic of stained glass windows painted the stone of the throne room in a rainbow colors, drawing his eye away from the issue at hand. Arl Teagan stood commanding the throne room’s attention with his forty-five minute tirade. Alistair sighed heavily; he had no patience for his uncle’s righteous indignation that morning.

 

“...And this is why we must do something to have Caer Bronach returned to Ferelden and push the Inquisitions forces back to Orlais. You’ve seen how close they are to the Orlesian throne  The Empress herself uses the Inquisition as her own personal muscle. Whatever she asks for, she receives.” Teagan paused a moment to catch his breath.

 

Alistair returned to the present, a hard frown on the lines of his face, and he sought to diffuse the situation, “You’re also forgetting the Inquisition used their relationship with Orlais to give us the opportunity to have the first diplomatic talks with our neighbor since my father took Ferelden back from the Empire. The Inquisitor’s an elven mage trying to put the world back together, not unlike _other_ elven mages we’ve known.”

 

The assembled banns and nobles fell silent for a moment before whispers circulated through the throne room.. Teagan stood stunned, his mouth hanging open in shock.  

 

“Your Majesty, stopping hordes of darkspawn and killing Archdemons isn’t the same as leading a private army and taking fortresses in the middle of a sovereign kingdom. That aside, you’re still not addressing the matter of Caer Bronach,” Teagan pressed.

 

“ _We_ should’ve done more to keep it free of bandits, and then it would’ve never been a problem.” Alistair’s voice boomed in the vaulted hall. He rose to feet, his long red velvet cape draped loosely behind him. His broad shoulders and height gave him an intimidating and imposing appearance.

 

“As long as this is _my_ kingdom, you will be more mindful of your tone. This meeting is adjourned until later this week. I have more pressing matters,” Alistair commanded.  He closed the distance between him and Teagan, the disparity in their heights was made even more obvious beside each other.

 

They stood with their eyes narrow and locked, the tension between them palpable. After a long strained moment of silence, Teagan released his scowl and an obedient smile spread wide across his aging face. He stepped aside, extended his arm, and dipped his head in a slight bow.

 

“Your Highness, please don’t let me keep you from pressing matters.” Teagan’s voice changed to a more pleasant and agreeable tone.

 

Alistair feeling the hot kick of adrenaline left the throne room fuming he remembered the last time Teagan had pressed too far, the last time he’d been that angry. He’d only ever thought of Teagan fondly until that night, it was the night _everything_ changed.

 

_“Eamon is right. You’re a young lad and being the bastard king will be difficult enough. Sure she’s young and beautiful now, but that doesn’t make her a suitable queen.” Teagan folded his arms across his chest._

 

_“Alistair, please see reason,” Arl Eamon urged.  This the man who abandoned Alistair to the Chantry as a boy.  He’d thought he was over it, but it stung him anew in this moment, as Eamon tried to make his own life easier at Alistair’s expense.  Again. “The Banns would never accept and elf or mage as their queen, let alone a woman who was both.”_

 

_Loghain’s blood still painted his armor, as Eamon had whisked him away after Ilyana summarily declared him Ferelden’s best option.  He never wanted to be King, and suddenly he’d been elected at Ferelden’s monarch. The words of his uncles echoed in his head like unwelcome ravens, stoking his anger into a fire that burned in his chest._

 

_“Quiet, the both of you! The Banns will learn to accept her. She brokered peace where all others have failed, and you tell me she’s not fit to be queen!” Alistair roared. He found himself losing his ability to defend her amidst his own anger and frustrations._

 

_Eamon regarded at his nephew gravely. “No, Alistair, they won’t. You can’t undo a thousand years of beliefs, even if you are right.”_

 

 _Alistair stormed out of Eamon’s study slamming the heavy oak door behind him._ I wouldn’t be in this stupid situation if Ilyana hadn’t pushed me to the throne. She didn’t listen to me when I told her I didn’t want to be king, _he thought to himself as he headed down to where his companions waited for him._

 

_With a forceful push, the door swung open and Alistair marched in._

 

_“Ilyana, we need to talk.”_

 

***

 

“Dad, will you take us hunting wild boar next week?” Duncan asked in his ivory colored pajamas, just the same as Chaska wore.  They were sparring, weilding pen quills in place of swords. Duncan lunged forward scoring a line of black ink across Chaska’s formerly pristine night clothes.

 

“Oh no! He got me!” Chaska clasped his heart and dramatically flopped to the floor. “Oooh, aggghhhh!” She writhed on the rug covered stone. Duncan threw his arms up in victory.

 

Alistair forced a smile onto his face, in spite of the bitter reminder that he might not have a tomorrow, let alone the rest of the week.  Normally he would’ve commented about how Blythe would be angry with them for ruining their clothes, but this evening scolding his children was the furthest thing from his mind. He envisioned Duncan, now taller than Chaska, swinging a heavy, long-hafted boar spear at his prey.

 

“Yes.” His voice was soft. “Let’s go this weekend.” He held back his tears in front of his children, his heart aching with the reality that he might not survive the night. Leaning down, Alistair pulled Chaska to her feet.

 

“Really, Dad? You’re gonna let us go boar hunting? Mom is gonna _kill_ you.” Duncan chucked, his dimpled cheeks and flaxen hair reminded Alistair of Blythe. He looked over to Chaska who was doing her own happy dance. To Blythe’s dismay, Chaska had cut her waist length auburn hair to her shoulders, wearing it lose and letting it fly wild. She had Ilyana’s confidence and independence, a girl never content to be still for any longer than necessary. Alistair smiled and extended his arms, prompting both children to fling themselves into his arms.  They were big enough now that together they knocked him back a step.

 

“It will be a good learning experience for you two. Besides, we’ll have the game master with us, so it’ll be as safe as possible.” He squeezed his children to him, marvelling to himself how much his they had grown. His heart yearned for them to be so small again.  He remember holding Duncan in the crook of his arm after he had just been born, so small and perfect and beautiful. And though he would always regret that he had not held Chaska when she had been newborn, that he held her now meant the world to him.

 

“Time to tuck in, kiddos.” He kissed the top of each of their heads and gently patted them on their backs.

 

“Night Dad! Night Chaska! Now, get out of my room so I can go to sleep!” Duncan ran across the room to his bed and threw back the covers before leaping between them. Chaska bounced out of the room down the hall to her own while Alistair tucked Duncan in.

 

He gently kissed his son’s forehead and whispered: “Sleep tight, I love you. See you tomorrow.”

 

“Night, Dad.” Duncan replied, his eyes already heavy.

 

Alistair’s heart was heavy leaving his son’s room, sorrow momentarily gripping  his chest before he rallied as he entered Chaska’s room. When he entered he saw his daughter under the covers with her head in a book. The sight lifted the weight from his chest, and a goofy grin spread across his face.

 

“You can’t sleep if you’re reading, it’s a fact,” he reminded her softly.

 

Chaska lowered her book and gave her father a look of annoyance and disapproval with pursed lips and low brows. “I know that, Dad.”

 

He crossed the room and took a seat at the edge of her bed. “Well, now that we both know that if you’re reading you’re not sleeping, why don’t we let the book get some rest as well? It will be there in the morning.”

 

Chaska let out an exaggerated sigh. “Fine.”

 

She closed the book after pulling the red ribbon through the pages.  He tucked her in tightly before leaving her to her slumber. His heart full, he thought that if this was to be his last day, it had been a damned good one.  

 

***

 

He laid beside Blythe. She was curled into a ball, fast asleep, her soft and smooth skin pressed against Alistair’s stomach.  He held her tightly to him, his arms wrapped around her. He leaned in and nuzzled her neck. He remembered the night they met at the ball. She already looked like a queen, confident, regal, and beautiful.  The other noblewomen offered snide remarks due to her being from the Free Marches. Just the sight of her had seemed to fill him with butterflies, a feeling he didn’t think he’d know after he’d lost--after he’d driven away Ilyana.  

 

He thought of how Blythe had been such a loving and steady partner.  How she took to her responsibilities as queen like a duck to water while he had still been floundering, playing catch up to all the lessons he’d missed by growing up removed from Court. He marvelled at how she had befriended and allied with most of the bann’s wives and had a shrewd mind for strategy.  He had not loved her at first. Admired her, respected her, even desired her, but not loved her. Instead he had grown to love her over their years together, and she was as steady as she always had been. He squeezed her tightly hoping, the feel of her in his arms would could overpower his fear.

 

“Mmm, again my love?” She grinned, her voice soft and muffled by speaking mostly into the pillow.

 

Alistair kissed the back of her neck. “I’m afraid not. It’s time for me to go.”

 

Rolling over to face him, she grabbed his hand and brought it up to her lips. “I love you, Alistair.  The Maker created you to be strong enough for this. The Maker will watch over you.”

 

He smiled at her and kissed her forehead. He’d hoped to find comfort in her arms one last time, but her words threw him off.  Blythe believed in the Maker, believed that the Maker would return her husband to her, and it was not a faith he shared. He believed Ilyana would see him through, and it was a disconnect between him and his wife.  Her unwavering faith that he did not share. A faith she held to tightly, and sometimes it made her unable to let go, especially when he desperately wished she would. He laid with her earlier that evening, and while it did nothing to quench the fires of his fear, it seemed to help calm whatever dread that gripped her. After tucking Blythe into bed, he left her in silence to whatever comfort she could find in her faith.

 

***

 

The cold water of the bath shocked Alistair to full wakefulness as he plunged into the copper tub. It made him remember all the baths in lakes, streams, and rivers he bathed in across Ferelden during the Blight. Thinking on it, the idea that  he’d probably seen more of his kingdom than any of his predecessors, even his father, elicited a brief chuckle. But his momentary mirth was stilled as he could not escape what he was about to face.

 

Stepping from the tub, he nearly slipped on the wet tile but regained his footing before he could fall. He heaved a sigh of relief and proceeded to dry off with a soft red towel. Now that would have been embarrassing.  To come within minutes of being cured, only to die by falling from the bath.

 

He dressed himself in his favorite small clothes and breeches. He reached for the tunic he set out for himself, and picked the red raw silk one; the one Ilyana had given him as a gift when he ascended the throne. The tunic felt a little snug in the arms and back, but it’s softness was why it was still his favorite after all these years. A wistful smile crossed his face as he sighed, the heaviness descended over his heart.

 

Ilyana.

 

It was not simply her being alive, or being here that made him think of her.  So much of today, she had been in his thoughts in a way she hadn’t been in a long time.  He was staring down the possibility of his own death, again, and it was as if his mind turned to her as if she were some kind of light, guiding him on.  As if some part of him believed, still believed, had always believed, that she could see him through this one last trial, this one last hurdle.

 

Then she would, what?  Go away as she had before?  Shaking his head, he tried to banish those thoughts.  Not the time, not the place, but the memory came back to him all the same.

 

_It was a beautiful night, all the stars glittered above with a waning moon ascending the sky. The heat of summer made even the mountains around Haven warm at night. Alistair and Ilyana sat alone by the fire. They huddled under a blanket together, the rest of their companions having retired to their separate tents._

 

_“Yana, can we go to bed?” he whined.“We spent the day hiking out from Haven, after, mind you, the last few days where we:  survived the Gauntlet, sand layed a high dragon. And that was after defending us from a crazy backward evil Andraste cult. I’m tired.” He dropped his forehead in the crook of her neck._

 

_“Am I a bad person, Alistair? I failed my friend Jowan, at the Circle. That’s why I’m a Warden. If Duncan hadn’t been there, I’d be Tranquil.” She pulled the blanket tighter around them. She’d been mostly silent since they returned from the Temple of Sacred Ashes._

 

_“What? No. Yana.” He sat up so he could look her in the eyes. “First off, Jowan is a blood mage. A maleficar. Second, you’re tried and everything’s getting to you.  We should finish this conversation in the tent. Naked. ” He grinned playfully, trying to nudge her out of her dark mood._

 

_“Yes, in a moment,” she pleaded, snatching his hands. “I didn’t get it right. I don’t want to ever get it that wrong with you. You mean everything to me.” Hearing her say those words surprised him, but in a good way, a way that made his stomach flutter._

 

_“You… I was wondering what you wanted to do, after all this is over.” He noticed the starlight created halos of silver on her black hair. He liked how the cool mountain air made the tip of her nose and her cheeks extra pink._

 

_“I don’t know. I hope you’re there, with me, and we’re doing it together. What about you?” she asked. She bit her bottom lip in nervousness,_

 

_“That’s funny, that’s what I was gonna say. Look, Ilyana, I know we’ve got a lot of world ending problems ahead of us, but knowing you’re there makes it possible. That’s how I feel about every day with you.”_

 

_Ilyana leapt into his lap almost knocking him backward. She kissed him repeatedly all over his face. Alistair picked her up, the blanket around them both._

 

_“To bed!” She extended her arm out in the direction of the tent. Alistair grinned and laughed._

 

_“Your wish is my command!” he laughed carrying her to their shared tent._

 

He suppressed a squirm of discomfort. Hours after laying with his wife, he was lost in thought about another woman. Hastily, he poured another glass of wine and with hurried gulps downed the lot. Letting out a long, slow breath, he tried to calm his rapidly beating heart and shake the errant thoughts from his mind.  

 

But it wasn’t just any other woman he was thinking of. He was thinking of _her_ , of Ilyana. His first love, his best friend and fellow Warden. The person who never made him apologise for being himself, who always made him feel safe and strong. Again he tried to shake his thoughts from his mind. He reminded himself that he had to focus on surviving the night and went about the business of lacing his boots.

 

Before he ascended the stairs to the tower he passed the estate room he shared with his wife. He paused by the door as he listened to the soft muffled sound of Blythe’s voice in prayer.

 

_Though all before me is shadow,_

_Yet shall the Maker be my guide._

_I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond._

_For there is no darkness in the Maker's Light_

_And nothing that He has wrought shall be lost._

 

The prayer reminded him of when he was trapped in the chantry as a boy.  It was a day for memories, and the prayer made him recall how much he had resented being sent away and never in his life had he felt so truly alone. The same abyssal loneliness descended upon him again. So that was it, he was alone in his possible last moments he determined as a creeping panic crept through him.

 

Each stair creaked, and in the silence of night every step may as well  have been a trumpeting fanfare. He peeked over the lip of the landing before entering the room. He saw the ring of runes on the floor, and in the center the bare wood had been covered in a riot of missmatching pillows. Ilyana’s back was to him as she knelt to light candles. Softly, he ascended the final stair, and walked across the floor.The last candle lit, she turned and smiled when she saw Alistair standing there. Seeing her smile dissolved his overwhelming dread in an instance.

 

“Hi,” she said.

 

“Hi,” he said feeling awkward.  But seeing her standing there, as prepared and determined as she had been during the Blight, steadied him.  She stood a bulwark against the fear and loneliness that had gripped him moments ago. He wasn’t that lonely boy anymore, and he had Ilyana to thank for that.  She had been the first person he had never felt like he had to apologize to for just existing. She’d made him feel safe and protective all at the same time, and she did still, even after all this time.

 

“It’s okay, I’m ready for you.” She waved him into the center of the room. He quirked his brow and the right side of his mouth pulled up into a grin at her choice of words. She sighed and shook her head.

 

“Take a seat in the circle.” She gestured to the pillows while going to the cauldron and filling a silver goblet with the potion she had brewed.

 

“You know, normally when people say things that sounds like commands, they add _Your Majesty_.” He walked to the circle of pillows and took a seat on the one he decided, after a moment’s consideration, was the fluffiest.  She laughed at the notion.

 

“Ha! I’m sorry, there’s no room for King’s here. This is for Wardens only.” She cautiously crossed the room, taking extra care not to spill a drop of what would either be his salvation or his doom. Kneeling in front of him, she extended the goblet for him to take.

 

“You’re right, I suppose that’s true. Tonight, I’m just Alistair Theirin,” he agreed.  Carefully, he took the goblet from her, the cool metal a relief on his adrenaline-hot skin.  It was as if his body were anticipating a battle, not a magical ritual. Though, in a way, he supposed this was a fight as real as anything he had faced before.  

 

“Well, good. That’s my favorite Alistair.”  Ilyana stood and retrieved a lyrium potion, uncorked it and quickly drank the entire bottle making a face of disgust after she was finished.

 

He stared at the contents of the goblet, the frothy black liquid smelled metallic and sour, causing his nose to wrinkle. He lifted his head and caught Ilyana’s eye, his brows raised he asked, “You have favorite Alistairs?”

 

She smiled and nodded and snapped her fingers causing the runes begin to glow.

 

“Yes, but we can talk about them when this is over. It’s time to drink everything in that goblet,” she told him, but it was not a command and he could hear the tremble in her voice.  She was confident, but there was always a risk. There had always been a risk.

 

The clouds passed by the full moon, it’s light came in through ethereal beams from the windows. In that light, he couldn’t help but gaze at Ilyana.  She was afraid, as he was afraid, but she was going to face this with him, together in the fight once more.

 

As he drank, he realized that if her face was the last thing in this world he ever saw, he would have no regrets.  

 

***

 

Ilyana held her breath as Alistair lay still. Her heart felt ready to pound its way out of her chest, and she was drenched in sweat and struggled to remain upright after the ritual drained her of magic.  If she had done everything right, he would open his eyes any moment now. Any moment.

 

Thoughts spun through her mind as she searched his face, that face she knew so well, for any sign of recovery.  Words howled through her, all the words she had never said, the apologies and truths owed, and twining through it all was the creeping horror of losing him.  He was so still. Too still. Her body trembled, but she thought it had to be the exhaustion, the bone deep weariness of putting herself through this again. Of trying to save the man she loved only to lose-- _oh Maker preserve me_.

 

Focus, she had to focus.  Struggling to gain control of her shallow, choppy breathing, she pressed her fingertips to his wrist, searching for his heartbeat.  Nothing. She couldn’t detect anything. She felt as if the entire sea was crashing over her, forcing her down into its dark, crushing depths.  Clenching her teeth, and ignoring the sour churning in her stomach, she slammed her fist into his chest, as if she could demand his heart to beat.  She would not fail, not this time, not _him_.

 

“No,” she croaked, her voice weak and thin to her own ears.  She was past the point of exhaustion, but she was not without will.  Straining, reaching past her sickening fear and drained body, she found one last spark of magic, one last tendril to draw from.  Grabbing hold, she pulled the magic through the Veil, letting it fill her. It burned her bones and stole the last of the air from her lungs, but she wound up once more and brought her fist down on his chest again.

 

“No!” she cried, a vehement denial.  Death would not have him, not yet, she wouldn’t allow it.  Not this man who had made her laugh and filled her heart, not this man who had been the first to see her not as an elf or a mage, but a woman to cherish.  Maker, what had she done? With the last of her strength, she struck him again, this time sending a shock of magic through his body.

 

White light flared, and his body arched as he sucked in a hard, reflexive breath.  Ilyana struggled to remain upright, but she would not, could not take her eyes off him.  Bracing herself on the on her hands, she watched with tears running down her cheeks as he curled in on himself. His body was rigid with pain, but miraculously, wonderfully, blessedly _alive_ .  His jaw clenched, and his eyes were shut tight against even the low light in the tower.  But he breathed out, in, out again, and let out a perfectly _Alistair_ plaintive, “Oooow.”

 

Fighting back a sob of relief, Ilyana coaxed him to unclench, and he promptly went limp.  His eyes were still closed, and his head lolled back as the sharp pain dulled. Weakly, he tried to reach for her, his large hand searching for something to hold on to.  A grateful smile on her face, Ilyana took his hand and gently laid it on his chest.

 

“Love you,”Alistair murmured, his voice hardly audible. Ilyana huffed and shook her head.  She knew how disorienting the moments after being cured had been for her. No doubt he thought he was with Blythe, thinking of seeing her familiar comfort.  Taking up a soft cloth, Ilyana dabbed his forehead, cleaning the sweat there.

 

“Sorry to disappoint, but it’s just me here with you,” Ilyana said, unable to stop smiling.  He was alive, oh Maker, he was alive. As she lifted the rag from his forehead he caught her wrist, and his eyes fluttered open.

 

“No, you’re,” he tried to say, but a coughing fit took him.  Rolling onto his side, he braced himself with his hand on the pillow covered floor and pressed himself to a seated position. Ilyana offered him a glass of water which he took in an unsteady hand and drank down greedily.

 

“I’ve got some food here for you too when you’re ready,” she said as gave him more water. She watched him carefully, her brows knit in concern as she tried to gauge how his body had weathered the cure.

 

“No, no, not listening. ‘Yana, it’s you.  Always, still. I love you.” He spoke softly and slowly as if he were realizing it at the same time. Already unsteady from the demands of the spell and healing him, she dropped the silver goblet on the pillow-cushioned floor with a soft _whump,_ and spilling water everywhere.

 

“Alistair.” She put a warning into his voice.  They couldn’t do this, _he_ couldn’t do this.  But a determination she wasn’t used to was in the set of his features, and he rose to his knees, overcoming the weighted stiffness that threatened to keep him down.

 

“Don’t _Alistair_ me, please.” He paused for a moment to catch his breath. He felt like a stranger in his own body, one without the added strength and endurance he’d grown accustomed to over the years. Ilyana leaned down and picked up the goblet, refilled it and returned it to Alistair, not once taking her eyes off from him.

 

“Ilyana, I love you. I’ve always loved you. I never stopped, even when I believed you were dead. I couldn’t stop, I just.  I pushed it down, pushed it away, but today, yesterday, I can’t keep track right now. Point is, I knew if I was going to die, all I wanted was to hold you one last time,” he told her, but she refused to believe it.   She backed away while he hauled himself up to stand unsteadily before her.

 

“Alistair, you don’t know what you’re saying. You’ve just survived an incredible ordeal. You’re not thinking straight. You are going to go back to your beautiful wife, your _wife_ , and are going to promptly regret saying all of that.” She quickly began busying herself restacking tomes, and packing up the runes with the rest of the ritual’s ingredients. He shakily made his way to the table and leaned against it while watching her criss cross the room.

 

“Ilyana, stop. I don’t have the energy to chase after you right now. Please just stop and talk to me.” He sighed, crossing his arms and refusing to give up or give in.  She exhaled a long breath and placed the last cleansing rune in the velvet pouch with the rest of the set. Cautiously she crossed the room to Alistair, and she resolutely glared up at him.  She would not be moved by him, not again.

 

“Okay, I’m here. Let’s talk. You have responsibilities: a wife, a family, a life-” she countered, trying to remind him of how far apart they had become.  But also to protect herself. She could not walk that road again, to let herself love him and be cast aside. He had changed, though, in the years since then.  He was no longer the uncertain bastard king, pushed around by his advisors. He was king in truth now, a man used to command and who held the respect of his people.  Yet for all that, she still saw the same, earnest young man he had been when he looked at her now.

 

_After a quiet passage across Lake Calenhad, everyone quickly headed for the Spoiled Princess, but Ilyana lingered on the hill overlooking the lake in the dusky evening.  The images of everyone she’d ever known laying in pools of their own carnage or worse--having turned into demons--was too much. Cullen’s mind, her friend’s mind, shattered on the altar of Uldred’s hunger for power. She’d failed her home. Maybe if she’d been there, maybe she could’ve done something. Tears traced down her cheeks, and she collapsed under the weight of what she’d seen._

 

_Then, unexpectedly, she felt the soft pressure of a hand on her back.  Hastily, she wiped her tears away and raised her head to see Alistair sitting next to her._

 

_“That must’ve been tough, seeing everyone you know,”Alistair sighed heavily. “Like that. It was hard for me and I didn’t even know anyone there.” He sat down beside her offering a hot cup of cocoa he’d bought from the Inn. She graciously took the beverage from him. The heat from the mug and the sweet aroma of chocolate was immediately comforting, but not so much as his steady presence beside her._

 

_“Thank you, but you don’t have to wait out here with me. I know you’re probably hungry and want to join the others,” Ilyana said with a timid smile._

 

“No,” he interrupted stepping toward her taking her hand lacing their fingers together.

 

“Not, without you, I don’t.” He leaned down and kissed her tenderly, their lips meeting cautious and careful.  He pressed his forehead to hers, and their hands clasped tight.

 

“What do we do now?” Ilyana asked, her voice soft and low, barely more audible than a whisper. “I’m still an elf, I’m still a mage, I can’t change those things.  Then there’s the fact the entire world believes I’m dead. Oh, and you’re _married_. You--”

 

_“Not a chance, it’s you and me, Ilyana. You sat with me every night on our way to Lothering and I was a silent blubbering mess. You never abandoned me, and well, you’re stuck with me now. Because I’m not letting you go anywhere.” He gave her a self-deprecating smile, wielding his humor as if it were a sword to cut through her sense of failure..  She shook her head, not wanting to trust to his assurances._

 

_“Did I do enough? I should’ve been there to save them. I failed everyone,” she insisted, voice breaking.  Fresh tears streaked her cheeks as she thought about how if only she had been better, this wouldn’t have happened.  It had always been easy, before, to do the right thing, to get full marks, but there were no marks out here, just the dead_

 

“‘Yana, I know,” he interrupted her.  She started, unused to him being so forthright, and he stepped into the silence her hesitation bought him.  He took a steadying breath and pressed ahead, though she saw an old nervousness surface in him, like when he had once asked her, “Do you, still love me?”

 

_“Ilyana,” he said, his voice soft as silk on her name.  Then he nudged her with his shoulder. “You going to beat yourself up about the Blight, too, while you’re at it?”  His challenging tone was unexpected, enough of a shock that she didn’t know what to say, and he kept right on talking.  “You weren’t here, yeah, but that’s because you were at Ostagar, saving me I might add. So thank you for that. I get it, I want to save everyone, too, but we can’t be everywhere at once.  You did good, really. Better than I would have managed. Far as I’m concerned, you’re the leader here, and I’ll follow you anywhere. Promise.”_

 

_Ilyana studied him, not sure how to handle the fact that he seemed to believe in her so easily.  Her, an elf and a mage, was someone he looked to for guidance, to follow. But instead of feeling weighed down by it, his confidence in her lifted her up, making her feel like she could conquer mountains.  A grin spread across her face lightning quick and she leaned over to kiss him on the cheek. It was an impulse, one she didn’t even think twice about, but his eyes went with shock and he blushed._

 

_“What was that for?” he stammered.  Her grin only grew wider, and she leaned on his shoulder._

 

_“For believing in me when I couldn’t believe in myself,” she answered, and then he smiled back at her._

 

_“Any time.”_

  


Then and now blurred together, the same thread still between them, grown tenuous over the years, but still there.  Would always be there. And she had a choice. She could follow that thread back to him or not. But she was done running.  After all this time, after everything, after nearly losing him again. She knew what her choice was.

 

“Isn’t it obvious? I keep coming back, don’t I?” Their lips met again and again. Alistair kissed her forehead then the top of her head and he pulled her close. They held each other tenderly, knowing the mountain of trials that stood before them would only be conquered if they worked together.

 

***

 

The late morning sun came in through the windows to the library where Blythe sat drinking her tea as she finished the last few chapters of the third instalment of Swords and Shields. She had prayed and prayed, until even to her it had lost its comfort.  She had to _do_ something, but there was nothing _to_ do.  Instead, she had found a distraction from her sleeplessness in the epic adventure love story. The passion swept her away, kept her from thinking about how her husband could be dead right now.  Running a hand over tired eyes, she let the book fall away from her, and she lifted her head to stretch her neck. Then she saw him standing there in the doorway, her husband. She rose to her feet immediately and crossed the distance to him.

 

“Alistair! Thank the Maker, you made it!” She rushed to him embracing him tightly, and he held her for a few breaths before letting her go.  Frowning, she knew something was wrong. She could feel it in how he did not hold her tightly, did not touch her hair gently. But he was like that sometimes, holding back a little when he was thinking of something.  She braced herself for what she did not know, but something unwelcome.

 

“Blythe, we need to talk,” he said, his brows low and serious. She felt paralyzed, that sentence in that tone was never a beacon for good things. She invited Alistair to join her at the small table by the window warmed by the sun.   He sat down heavily, shoulders rounding forward. He was tired, that was all. Tired and wrung out from the magical ritual that had saved his life.

 

“You know you can tell me anything,” she said, her voice quivered with uncertainty. He wrapped his hand around hers.

 

“I know,” he whispered. “Blythe, you’re an amazing queen and mother…” Blythe jerked her hand away from his as if from a hot stove. She knew this conversation, she’d heard her father begin the same way with her mother many years ago.

 

“Ah, yes.  I see. I had thought--no, never mind what I thought,” she said, words clipped and precise.  The cold resilience she relied on throughout her life enveloped her. She was made of ice, she had to be. The knew _this_ story.  It was a love story like in the book, just not for her.  

 

“Blythe, I love you, but I don’t want to lie to you,” he told her.  More words she had heard before.

 

“All this time has been a lie then?” she snapped.  It was a break in her rigid control, but she was oddly gratified to see him flinch.  Good. He was not going to get out of this easily, not like other men did. But then he surprised her, as he did now and again.  He closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair with a sigh. Alistair had never learned to dissemble, even as a king these past years, and his guilt was in every line of his face.

 

Guilt she had not expected.

 

“No, but if I didn’t tell you now, anything going forward would be.  You deserve more than a fiction for a marriage, Blythe. You deserve someone who can give you their whole heart, but that isn’t me,” he said earnestly.  It almost worked, his earnest words, his heartfelt tone, but her whole life was crumbling around her. She would not be like her mother. She would not accept this fate.  She was the _queen_ , Maker take him!

 

“Tell me the truth, then, if I deserve more than _lies_.  Did you sleep with her?” she asked, tone bitingly cold.  

 

“No! I would never! I don’t want to betray you, Blythe. I never wanted to hurt you,” he insisted, voice rising with shock.  

 

“You already have.” She rose to her feet, the ice reaching her heart, overrunning the whole of her like a glacier covering the landscape.  “I’ll be in Redcliffe if you need me.” Cold and rigid she left the library to prepare for her trip. Never more in her life did she look forward to to leaving Denerim.

 


	14. Discovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ilyana and Chaska reunite, Alistair and Ilyana navigate their relationship and Blythe travels to Redcliffe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank Zinjadu for being an amazing and dedicated editor and beta. She's been with me every step of the way on this epic journey and it wouldn't have been possible without her friendship and eyes. She's the writer of [**The Long Way Home**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14613042) a wonderful tale about her warden, Caitwyn Tabris's life after the Blight and the Breach. Do yourself a favor and read it!

In the bright warm glow of the morning sun, Chaska descended the stairs to the garden with arms full of books. Lost in a daydream she didn’t pay much attention to her path until she noticed there was an adult figure sitting on her favorite reading bench. She sighed heavily, annoyed.  It was probably some courtier milling about the grounds hoping to ask her questions that she would then pass on to her parents. Not that she ever would do that, though that didn’t stop them from trying. Regardless, she’d heard her parents speaking in  _ serious voices _ in the library and wanted to be as far from it as possible. When she paused to take a better look at the figure on the bench her eyes widened, she dropped her stack of books and searched for air that was suddenly missing from her lungs. She shook her head to be sure she wasn’t witnessing some illusion.

 

“Mom?” Chaska gasped. She stood in disbelief. It couldn’t be, could it? Her heart raced and her eyes stung.

 

“My little Dragonling!” Ilyana’s voice was choked with tears as rose to her feet and ran to her daughter wrapping her arms around her, lifting her off the ground in a hug. Chaska shrieked with joy hearing her mom’s voice. She would recognize it anywhere. The voice that would sing her to sleep, fix all problems, and heal any ache. 

 

“Mom! Is it really you? Are you really Mom?” Chaska pressed her face into her mother’s shoulder and cried in great, heaving sobs; it was really  _ her _ . She shook, like she was too small for everything she felt, her heart beating between stunned happiness and confused sadness. 

“It’s really me. I’m so sorry I was gone so long, I’ll never leave like that again, I promise,” Mom told her, her voice reaching back down into Chaska’s memories to a time when she had been small and the world had been simple.  They clung to each other like climbers hanging on a cliff’s edge. Ilyana touched Chaska’s face, her shoulder, her hands repeatedly. Chaska cried uncontrollably, her body shuddering with every sob. Chaska wiped her tears from her face with her forearms. She felt like she was being ripped under by the surf as happiness, sadness, confusion and anger all crashed upon on her in waves. 

 

“Where did you go?” Chaska wailed. “You died, they told me you were dead! You went away and you died, and now you’re here. Where were you? Where were you for so long?” Her words were colored by her uncontrollably bawling. She didn’t understand how someone could be declared dead for years and then return. She didn’t understand why her mother would leave her for years, did she not want to be a mother, was she unwanted? The very thought ached and she wished she could slice her confusion and pain like she would a dummy in the training ring. 

 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry I was gone, my heart.” Ilyana rocked Chaska back and forth, she sobbed into her mother’s shoulder. “I will never be gone so long again, I promise. Shhh, shhh. I’m here. I’m right here,” Ilyana whispered soothingly as her arms encircled Chaska and rubbed her back in lazy circles.

 

“Where  _ were _ you?!” Chaska bellowed.  She missed her mother’s hugs, they were strong and tight and she knew nothing could get her in her mother’s arms. That had not changed, and as the reality of her mother began to sink in, some of Chaska’s anger began to fizzle out.

 

“I was on the other side of the world, I’m so sorry. I tried to send word, but I couldn’t. It was dangerous and scary and I’m so happy to finally be home, with you.” Ilyana said as she continued to stroke her head and back, making soft comforting sounds, the same as she had when Chaska was a baby.

 

“I think she’ll be here for many years to come, well, I hope she will.” Alistair’s voice was soft as he placed a hand Ilyana and Chaska’s backs. Chaska looked up at her dad, face puffy and pink from crying and lip still quivering. 

 

“You really want her to stay, Dad?” Chaska asked. Alistair wrapped his arms around them and pulled them close. She could feel her father’s steady heart. Chaska dreamed for countless nights of being held by them both of her parents. There she was, in their arms, not in a dream. “She can even stay here in the palace if she wants,” he grinned. 

 

“Dad… Chaska?” Duncan’s voice came from behind them. Chaska turned to see her brother standing behind them wearing a puzzled expression.

 

“Duncan!” Chaska squealed and burst from her parents’ embrace and ran to her brother almost tackling him in a hug. “It’s the best day ever! My mom’s back! She’s alive!” Duncan hugged his sister, but his brows knit together in confusion. 

 

“Your mom’s not dead?” Duncan asked his sister.  He took a step back, but kept his arm around her shoulders.   

 

“It’s so great! She’s gonna stay here, with us! We’re all here together finally!” Chaska’s voice rose in pitch as her level of excitement grew. Her enthusiasm was contagious. Soon, both Chaska and Duncan wore enormous smiles around their faces. Holding hands and dancing together they celebrated. 

 

“Hey kids, why don’t you go in for lunch. We’ll join you soon.” Alistair called out to his children. Listening to their father, they giggled and ran into the palace. A moment later Chaska ran back out and ran back to Ilyana and hugged her quickly.

 

“Just making sure you’re still,” she paused for a moment and hugged her mother again. “there.” She stood there smiling, her chest felt full and light. Without another word she turned and ran toward the palace. Laughing at Chaska’s antics, Alistair turned to Ilyana. He gently touched her upper back between the shoulder blades.

 

“I need to join them, why don’t you just, take that north tower as your own and I’ll meet you there later? I’ll send lunch up to you,” Alistair spoke softly into her ear. Ilyana smiled up at him and together they headed inside. With a quick pace fueled by her intense desire to rest after the whirlwind after Alistair’s cure, she ascended the stairs to the north tower. She unfolded her cloak and collapsed face first into the giant pile of pillows in the middle of the room. She wrapped her arms around a large pillow hugging it tightly and screamed into it with joy as loud as she could. 

 

Ilyana rolled onto her back holding the pillow tightly. She couldn’t believe after everything, all that time through everything, she had her daughter back. She didn’t have to ride nearly a week to see her, she was merely downstairs. The torture, isolation, facing the Deep Roads alone, the years apart and hiding were all worth it. She was filled with the buoyant feeling of hope, pushing outward like her chest could burst from happiness. Cradled by the reality of knowing that when she woke, her daughter would still be there, she was asleep moments later. She dreamed of glittering summers holding, playing, and simply being with her heart, her life, her Chaska. 

 

***

 

It was the end of one of the longest days Blythe could remember. She and Alistair were unable to avoid each other completely and attempted to put on an amicable display for the children. There was, however, one bright spot no darkness could cover, and Blythe went to tuck Duncan in.  She perched on the bed, her son under the covers already. 

 

“How’s my little prince doing?” she asked as she brushed his hair off of his forehead. “Lots of excitement today, huh?” He nodded, yawning.  Though he was clearly tired, he still perked up to answer her. .

 

“Yeah, it was neat to see Chaska’s mom for a moment! Is she really going to stay with us?” he asked. Blythe mustered her kindest smile on her face while she attempted to overcome the flames of her resentment.

 

“It appears to be that way.” She took a breath before continuing. “Pup, it appears that I’m going to be in Redcliffe for a few months longer than I thought. With winter coming, there’s a chance I won’t make it back until spring. Building schools in Redcliffe and the surrounding towns requires a lot of oversight and it’s very important the project receives proper attention.” 

 

“That makes, sense, I guess,” he said then let out an exasperated huff.

 

“It’ll be alright, little Pup. We’ll write each other every day and you’ll have your father and sister here too. You’ll be so busy you won’t even notice the time fly.” She pulled the blanket under his chin and proceeded to tuck him in again before grabbing another blanket and draping it across the lower part of the bed.

 

“Night, Duncan. I love you.” She said as she watched him roll onto his side curl into a ball and quickly drift to sleep. She stood leaning against the solid door frame gazing at her son as long as she could, determined to memorise the moment so she could carry it with her for the journey ahead. Reluctantly, she returned to her quarters to handle the last necessary preparations for  her trip. 

 

***

 

Carrying a tray of tea and golden brown steaming hot stuffed pasties, Alistair ascended the spiraling stairway to the north tower. The sun hung low in the afternoon sky, the golden light softened as it streamed in through the windows. As he reached the top floor his heart warmed at the sight of Ilyana curled into a ball asleep on the bed of pillows on the floor that were still in place from the ritual. He placed the tray on the ground and climbed over to Ilyana and kissed her forehead while gently squeezing her shoulder.

 

“‘Yana, wake up,” his voice was low and soft. Ilyana rolled over to face him with a soft moan of dissent.

 

“Come on, love. I brought you tea and food,” Alistair whispered as he leaned over her and gently brushed her loose raven’s wing of hair away from her face. 

 

“Did you make it?” Ilyana asked in a low sleepy mumble.

 

“Um, no. I’m King of Ferelden, remember? Of course I didn’t make it.” Alistair replied, his voice raised in pitch, slightly offended.

 

“Oh, good.” Ilyana smiled as pushed herself to seated.

 

“Oh, good? The King of Ferelden brings you breakfast in bed, himself-- in the early evening, mind you--but first you need to verify that he didn’t make it because you hate his cooking so much. I bet there are kings that would have your head for that,” he remarked teasingly. He reached for the teacup and saucer and handed it to her.

 

“Is having my heart not enough?” she coyly asked, taking it the teacup and saucer with both hands. 

 

Hearing her words, he immediately took her face into his hands and their lips met in long sweet and hungry kisses. Feeling himself become caught up in the moment and worried it was too much too fast, he leaned back and sat back down.

 

“Did you rest well?” He took his tea from the tray. The warm beverage was laced with honey and milk, a balm for his weariness. He hadn’t yet been given the opportunity to rest after the cure the night before. He could still feel Ilyana’s healing magic course through him reviving his vitality. 

 

“Mm, yes,” she replied taking a sip of the tea. “Have you slept yet?” She asked. Alistair could feel her violet eyes studying him. 

 

“Not yet, I had to speak with Blythe and deal with other business. She will be leaving for Redcliffe in the morning.” He sighed, the weight of his conversation with his wife still ached. He never wished to hurt her. He didn’t regret the years they spent together, but ultimately knew it wasn’t what he needed for the rest of his life.

 

“Oh.” She placed her teacup down and placed her hand on his knee. “How are you? What did she say? I know! I’m sorry, I probably shouldn’t ask.”

 

“I told her.” His sigh was heavy with disappointment. “I told her that I couldn’t do this life the way we had anymore. She asked me if I had slept with you, and I told her the truth- we hadn’t. She stormed off. We talked again later, and I let her know that I was giving you the north tower and she could take the west wing of the guest apartments. The house staff already moved her things. The whole thing was a nightmare.” 

 

“Are you okay?” Ilyana asked softly.  She scooted closer to Alistair, her hand placed lightly on his back.  She hoped it was a comfort. 

 

He uncrossed his arms and wrapped one around Ilyana’s waist, squeezing her tightly. Her touch was a reprieve from his dark thoughts. The comfort she radiated calmed his nerves, the way it always had.

 

“Yes, I’ll be fine.” He took a moment for his disappointment in how everything unfolded with Blythe before he mustered a smile and focused on the present. 

 

“Let me help you set your quarters, I’m sure you’d like a place that’s your own again after years on the road.” He patted her on back before rising to his feet. Extending a hand he pulled her to her feet. 

 

“I had an idea, about how we’re going to make all this, life, possible. You could install me as the Royal Arcanist,” she suggested.  She extended her arm above her head drawing power from the Fade. With a gesture she used her telekinetic magic to unstack the furnishings towering in the far corner of the tower.

 

“I like that idea. If Celene gets to have a Royal Arcanist, I do too!” Alistair said defiantly, puffing up his chest. He crossed the room and grabbed linens from a filigree engraved oak armoire.

 

“Oh, you know that was Morrigan, right?” Ilyana couldn’t help but smirk. She took the sheets from Alistair and crossed back over to the bed.

 

“Wait, what? Really? Morrigan? In the Orlesian court? Celene really  _ is _ a madwoman.” Alistair joined her, taking the other side of the bed tucking the sheet under the mattress into the heavy four poster oak frame. 

 

“That’s what she said,” she went on as she shook out the top sheet. 

 

“As much as I’m not a fan of Morrigan, I’m thankful you two are close and she saved your life the way she did.” Alistair took his side of the sheet and tucked it under the mattress.

 

“Huh. You really have matured. She even said nice things about you the last time we took time to just talk.” She caught the quilt Alistair tossed her, together they kept making her bed. 

 

“Was that really another dig? I could say the same about you, except I know you’re still a rapscallion!” He teased.

 

“Well, then you’re a rapscallion lover, so there.” She pouted for an entire five seconds.

 

“We have to make an official proclamation that you’re alive. People who know you, are going to recognize you. I’ll have the seneschal write up something about how you return to us alive, despite blah blah blah. We’ll throw a citywide celebration. It was  _ you _ who saved Denerim. You’re a hero to everyone here. Especially me.” He couldn’t help but tack the last bit on, as it was true. She was his hero.  She came to save him, even after all their years apart, and just the sight of her stilled his heart to this day.

 

***

 

Winter threatened an early appearance after a long hot summer and rapidly dropping temperatures in the abbreviated autumn. Queen Blythe had arrived in Redcliffe a week prior after a long quiet journey. Arl Teagan was happy to have the Queen taking up residence with his family at the castle. The promise of a school and presence of royalty in their town created an atmosphere of celebration among the people of Redcliffe. Blythe cherished the country air and the opportunity to focus on dreams of turning Ferelden into an educated kingdom and distract her from her own broken heart. 

 

She established her routine quickly, praying at the Chantry in the mornings as she always had, then the morning briefings on the status of the project, site inspection, and teacher interviews. Then, a week after she’d been busy at work trumpets announced the arrival of an unexpected guest.

 

“Your Majesty, I’m sorry to interrupt this meeting, but it appears that the Prince of Starkhaven and his escort has arrived!” The young page ran into the cottage swinging the wooden door wide open to make his announcement.

 

“Oh. Did you know he was coming, Teagan?” More confused than alarmed, Blythe queried her host while taking her white leather gloves from cloak pockets and pulling them on. Teagan rose to his feet, but waited on Blythe to proceed.

 

“No, I did not, Your Highness,” Teagan said his voice stern with caution. 

 

Blythe stood from behind her desk and straightened her gown. She took her black and gold embroidered red wool cloak off the hook on the wall and fastened the gold clasp before sticking her arms through the fur lined arm slits. Before stepping outside of the cottage she raised the hood of her cloak and inhaled a long deep breath. She was puzzled and intrigued as to why the Prince of Starkhaven would be in Redcliffe of all places, especially without notice. Growing up in Markham in the Free Marches, Starkhaven was heralded as the jewel of the city states for its size and command of the region. Teagan opened the door for Blythe and together they left to greet the Prince.

 

Surrounded by twenty of his own men, guards and servants, Sebastian Vael stood near where the foundation was being laid for the first school building, examining the proceedings with a curious air. He was average height, with medium brown hair contrasting against his white cloak. As the  Queen and Arl approached, one of his servants made note, and the Prince of Starkhaven turned to offer them both a warm smile

 

Of course, before she could approach the Prince, propriety had to be observed.  As if on cue, Arl Teagan’s attendant loudly announced, “Blythe Theirin Queen of Ferelden and Arl Teagan of Redcliffe, may I present Sebastian Vael of Prince of Starkhaven?”

 

Sebastian took a step back and dipped his head in a gracious bow. Teagan responded with a courteous bowing of his head and Blythe lightly dipped her chin at the Prince.

 

“I apologise if my unannounced arrival is unwelcome, your Highness.  However, word of your ambitious education project has spread. and I have come with hopes that you would let me observe as you implement this plan.  My intent, as you might imagine, would be to replicate such a program in Starkhaven. That said, I did not expect I would be graced with the presence of the Ferelden Queen herself. It’s an honor to meet such an extraordinary figure in Thedas,” the prince said, those normally flattering phrases spoken with an unusual measure of earnest truth.  His thick Starkhaven accent spread like honey over his words, a near familiar ring of home to Blythe’s ears, and his piercing blue eyes caught the attention of Blythe’s own. 

 

“Not unwelcome, no, Prince Vael. If your purpose here is to learn in order to bring education to your people then I hope you find all that you need. How long are you expected to be staying with us in Redcliffe?” Blythe asked calmly, but her stomach fluttered. Growing up she would have never believed that the Prince of Starkhaven would bow before her or know her name. Though she’d been a queen for over a decade, some vestiges of thought from her youth occasionally presented themselves. 

 

“A month at the least, we’re prepared to remain here for the winter. Starkhaven is in good, trusted hands and the world is once again calm. I decided if there was ever going to be a safe time to leave, this would be it. One must always find time to do good work in the Maker’s name,” he smiled widely before returning to a more serious face.

 

“Yes!” Blythe exclaimed, unable to contain her excitement. “The Maker always smiles on those who take care of the needy.” 

 

“I think this is the beginning of a promising friendship, Your Majesty.” He smiled at her again.

 

Arl Teagan cleared his throat and broke into the conversation. “Redcliffe Castle would be happy to accommodate you and your men.”

 

“Thank you, Arl Teagan, however, your kindness isn’t necessary, we’ve brought our own tents and supplies,” Sebastian explained, taking his eyes off Blythe for but a moment to talk respond to the Arl. Teagan let out a short, abrasive laugh.

 

“Those might suffice for the next two weeks, but winter is coming quickly and you don’t want to endure feet of snows with nothing but thin walls of fabric to keep you warm. Come, let’s get you situated in the Castle and let me say I hosted both the Queen of Ferelden and the Prince of Starkhaven in my castle at the same time.” Teagan insisted. Taking a quiet moment to consider Teagan’s offer, Sebastian smiled in agreement and signalled his men to get back on their horses. 

 

“Come men, it appears that we’ve found ourselves among the most gracious hosts and hopefully friends.” Sebastian flashed one more smile before following his hosts to Redcliffe Castle.

 

***

 

The first snow had fallen in Redcliffe a month into Blythe’s stay. It was after dinner at the Castle, Teagan had excused himself early, tired from the long week. The school’s progress was going well, even despite the weather slowing things down. Sebastian and Blythe retired to the sitting room in the guest wing of the castle. Over the month the two developed a friendly relationship. They went to Chantry services daily together and discovered they both had a deeply abiding love for the sanctity of the Chantry and education. Frequently at the ends of the day before retiring to their separate quarters they would stay in the guest sitting room by the fire, each with their respective books.

 

“Your Majesty, it’s been an honor to spend such quality time with you,” Sebastian said sincerely.  He placed the novel in his hands down on his lap, keeping a finger between the pages to hold is place as he reached for the white satin ribbon he used as a bookmark.

 

“The honor is mine, Sebastian. I see you’re enjoying the third installment of Swords and Shields. Did you know the author hails from your lands?” She smiled, her eyes twinkling in the firelight. The rich texture of Sebastian’s voice and accent made her belly flutter still.  Her parents had originally wanted her to marry into a noble Starkhaven family to elevate their position in Markham. 

 

“Actually, I did know. Kirkwall’s Viscount is an old acquaintance of mine, and the author is a student of his, of sorts. I dare say this could be my favorite piece of literature I’ve truly enjoyed that wasn’t a treaste on Andraste or the Maker. I was quite surprised, though this  _ is _ a romance novel, it wasn’t filled with debauchery. It’s an examination on the very nature of love. ” Sebastian ruminated for a moment before nodding in conclusion.

 

“I agree!” Blythe, her pitch of her voice raised, giddy. She’d longed for someone to share thoughts and feelings about her favorite novel. They sat gazing into each other’s eyes, a smile spread across each of their faces. Sebastian’s cheeks flushed a rosy pink, as he looked down at the fire before looking back at Blythe.

 

“The relationship in the novel, it is one to aspire to, I believe.  Much like the wonderful partnership you have with your King Alistair, Theirin. He’s renowned as a genuinely good man and just ruler. His patience with the mages outclasses my own, I’m afraid. The amount of trade he’s established, Ferelden’s become an incredibly successful nation under his rule-” Sebastian paused noticing Blythe’s face increasingly grow redder and redder. She leapt to her feet and folded her arms across her chest.

 

“Yes, what a wonderful king!  He does his country proud,” she bit out harshly,, her anger boiling over as she clenched her fists until her knuckles were white. “But, Maker take me, he’s a shit husband. Andraste bless him, for he is a loving, attentive and giving father, but when it comes to being his partner, I wish I could turn back the clock and never attended that stupid ball. How was I supposed to know he’d be forever hung up on his first love?! His first love, who wasn’t me. And to make matters all worse, it’s the bloody Hero of Ferelden. I’m not a hero of anything!” Her voice ascended in volume as she ranted, her face red and blotchy from her anger tears. 

 

Sebastian sat back in his chair, startled by Blythe’s outburst. She was almost an inhuman, perfect figure to him. 

 

“You  _ are _ a hero, your Highness.You are pulling this country in a direction no one has dared before, and children will be healthier and happier thanks to your efforts. It was one thing to ensure the country survived the Blight, it’s another thing entirely to ensure it thrives. Bly-- your Highness, I very much hope you can see that.”

 

As if driven by the Maker himself, he kissed her hand and watched her, her eyes that were normally raised in adoration to Andraste, but now regarded her with the same tender zeal.

  
  


***

 

The entire city of Denerim embraced the opportunity to celebrate the return of the Hero of Ferelden. A small parade of the King’s Guard marched in advance of two carriages, Prince Duncan and his sister Chaska in the first one, and in a separate carriage rode King Alistair and Ilyana Surana, beloved Hero of Ferelden.   The procession stopped at the griffon Memorial statue, where the king delivered a speech heralding the return of the Hero of Ferelden, and his lifelong friend. The seemling endless sea of people cheered at his rousing address.

 

People lined the streets and threw flowers, ribbons, and seeds celebrating the return of their beloved Hero. They chanted and sang, the taverns bustling with so much activity a few even ran out of ale and wine. 

 

That night, the moon  rising in the sky and the stars glittered and winter’s grasp clawed at the air making it crisp and chilly, the celebrations continued at the Castle with a ball. Nobility from the Kingdom and beyond arrived in spite of the short notice. The ball was a smashing success, and when the King made is appearance with the petite raven haired elven Hero, whispers and murmurs echoed through the elaborate ballroom. He wore his finest red and gold formal attire, his simple golden crown atop his head, while the Hero wore a gold and white silk gown with a mountain of black hair pinned back in braids and twists adorned with pearls. 

 

The night was alive with song, dance, feasting, conversation and merriment. For Ilyana, however, it all became too much too quick, and she escaped to a balcony, ignoring the cold air on her bare arms. The last two months had been a whirlwind. She gazed up at the stars and said a silent prayer for Esteven, who would have loved to see this, to see a city beside itself with joy, to see her in a dress such as this, and who had reminded her what it was to love again.   _ Thank you, my love _ , she thought, and prayed that somehow his soul had managed to find adventure beyond the Veil.

 

“Am I interrupting?” The familiar voice of Commander Harion came from the door. Without looking back, Ilyana waved him over.

 

“No, just hiding for a moment. Hoping I can finally escape soon,” she said thickly, her head muddled by all the wine.

 

“You should’ve never returned then. I can guess you’ll have a lifetime of these events to manage.” He grinned and  took a drink from his glass. “I’m glad you’re not dead. Though, you do owe me the story of what really happened, but that’s for another time. Come visit Fort Drakon next week. It would sure boost everyone’s morale.”

 

“I’ll do that. Thank you for… always being there, Harion.” She looked up at his tanned face and smiled. 

 

“Always, my lady.” Harion dipped his head in a bow. 

 

“Am I interrupting anything?” Alistair asked as he joined the two of them, setting his drink on a marble pedestal. 

 

“Not at all, Your Highness, I was just about to take my leave.” Harion bowed at the waist before returning to the gala. 

 

Alistair nodded to Harion as his commander departed the balcony. Alistair came up behind Ilyana and wrapped his arms around her leaned down and whispered in her ear, “Come dance with me.”

 

“No, Alistair, that would be a bad, bad idea! You shouldn’t even be standing this close to me, what if someone sees us?” Ilyana tried to weasel away from Alistair, but his size and strength was no match for her without using magic.  Especially since she also had no real intention to get away. 

 

“Everyone is tossed, and there’s no direct view to this balcony from the ballroom.  I could even do this,” he breathed, and then leaned down to press his lips to her neck. “And no one would be the wiser.” 

 

With a single movement, Alistair took her hand, twirled her around to face him and placed his hand on her hip. Ilyana laughed resting her hand on his shoulder, and she followed his lead. 

 

“So, how is it being resurrected?” he asked, the lightness in his voice fueled by his modest inebriation.

 

“Well, if you’d received my raven I would’ve saved you the expense of this party,” She teased. Alistair spun her before lowering for a dip, raising her back up with another twirl.

 

“Oh, it’s my fault a lone raven didn’t make it thousands of miles in the middle of wars and an ancient evil magister trying to rip open the Veil to take the Maker’s throne. Besides, deprive me of this night? Never.” He pulled her close, breathing her in, the scent of vanilla and frankincense making his heart skip a beat.  The drink normally didn’t go to his head, but Ilyana realized she had forgotten to warn him that without the Taint, he could not consume alcohol as he once had. His cheeks were flushed, and his eyes were glittery bright in the night.

 

“I’ll meet you at the tower in ten minutes,” she whispered as she stood on tip-toe. Alistair released her and they bowed to each other. When Ilyana reached the door she took a last glance back at Alistair smiling at him. In that moment she had never felt luckier.

 

“I love you,” Ilyana mouthed to him before snaking her way through the gala.  There had been so much commotion since Blythe departed for Redcliffe, they’d hardly spent time together, alone. They spent much of the days with the children or apart. They kept their distance in public, stealing glances and kisses in the shadows.  In many ways it was more exciting than falling in love the first time. 

 

***

 

The floor of Blythe’s suite was littered with articles of clothing. Beneath the heavy quilts Sebastian and Blythe laid naked, her head on his chest, a mess of golden curls spread across this pillow behind her.

 

“Maker forgive me,” Sebastian said softly. Overwhelmed by his guilt of breaking his vow of chastity at the same time, determined, alive and content. “Blythe, we have to make this right. What we’ve done-”

 

“Is human, Sebastian.  Only human, as the Maker made us,” Blythe said, a sudden realization sinking into her.   _ Only human _ .  The heart could not be controlled, it simply was.  What was controllable was how one reacted. Alistair had done that, at least, had done what he could for her in the face of what his heart drove him to.  Was she any different? Were any of them? Since they were all the Maker’s children, she doubted it.

 

“I… I do not.  That is to say,” Sebastian trailed off, disentangling himself from her.  Blythe’s heart nearly broke for the cold air where his body had once been.  His shoulders hunched forward, and she saw an uncertainty in him, a pained confusion.  

 

“I told you an uncomfortable truth last night, and you did not shy away.  If you have something to say, I… I would that you say it plainly,” she told him, asserting herself in a way she never had before.  It was one thing to be a queen, to give orders to nobles and servants alike, but to demand the truth of a man she cared for, a man she could perhaps love, was another thing entirely.  She had done it once before, and then for the sake of a child, not herself. 

 

“I was not always the man you see before you now.  I was once… I sinned a great deal. I was a layabout, a gallivanting fool, steeped in sin.  I made a vow, a vow I have kept for many years, but with you, Maker help me, with you I want nothing more than to renounce that vow.  I look at you, Blythe, and I fear I am lost to the Maker, but at the same time I am also  _ found _ .  How is that possible?” he asked, turning to her.  His startingly blue eyes desperately searched hers, and his words reached down into the heart of her, putting a name to all that she felt and did not know how to say.

 

“I do not know,” she said softly, shaking her head.  He made to pull away again, but she halted him with a feather light touch of her fingers to his cheek.  He nearly shied at her touch, and she wondered when was the last time he had let himself be held. “I do not know, but I… I feel the same way.  I had thought, had thought that I was lacking in some way, that it was my fault, that I was not enough. But I don’t feel that way with you.”

 

For a long moment, they drank in the sight of each other, and then slowly, as if laying down a heavy burden, Sebastian closed his eyes and leaned forward.  His forehead came to rest against her brow, and their breath mingled between them. There was much to do, Blythe knew. They would have to find a way to dissolve her marriage to Alistair, and handle the political fall out.  Then there was Duncan and Chaska. Oh her babies, her dear children. She would not let them be taken from her. Duncan would become king in his own time, of course, and Chaska would understandably wish to be with her natural mother, but Blythe had no intention of losing her family.  Lastly, there was her project, the schools that were quickly becoming her life’s work. She would not abandon that simply because her marriage to Alistair had not stood one final test.

 

But for now, Blythe and Sebastian held each other almost castely in spite of their state of undress, and for the first time in her life, Blythe finally felt like she was good enough as she was.

 

***

 

Alistair and Ilyana sat across from each other in the cold and creaking north tower playing Wicked Grace. Their brows low in serious expression as they each studied their cards and then scrutinized each other attempting to determine who had the upper hand. The table was littered with a tray with half eaten treats, tea that had long been cold and all of candles were low, and a few had burned themselves out. The ball had been over for hours and they’d spent the entire latter half of their evening playing Wicked Grace. 

 

“Are you sure you’re not cheating using your tricky, sneaky, magic are you? Conjuring cards? Creating illusions? Maybe this isn’t really a knight card? How would I know?” Alistair teased. A playful, yet accusatory, whine colored his voice.

 

“Oh, come on. You won all my money in last week’s game,” Ilyana playfully reminded him. She glanced out the window at the sky. “Well, it’ll be morning soon, I should let you get to bed. You’ve got a busy day of running the kingdom ahead of you, I’m sure.” 

 

“‘Yana,” he said softly, “I’m sorry that we’ve spent so little time together, just us. If I could just tell the world how I felt about you, we’d be afforded more time. Well, not like I’ve ever had much free time as King. Tomorrow is an official rest day,  I’m not dealing with anything that isn’t a world ending crisis, which knowing Thedas could be any day  _ really _ . I want to spend the day with you. We’ll have breakfast with the kids, they’ll go off to their lessons and then it will be you and me all day.” 

 

“Alistair, you have a great deal of responsibility on your shoulders, as much as I much as want you all to myself, I understand.” She smiled at him. She cherished their late night card games because it reminded her of less complicated times. 

 

“Do you have any plans in mind for tomorrow?” she asked, with a playful grin across her face.

 

“I hadn’t made it that far, actually. Maybe we’ll go for a long ride? Or stay in and read? I told the kitchen to prepare a special meal-- Maker you look beautiful when I’m boring you,” Alistair chuckled setting his cards down.

 

“Oh no! I’m not bored! I’m just tired. It was a big day. Remember, I’ve been a recluse hiding in libraries on the edge of Thedas, not entertaining aristocracy.” Ilyana covered her mouth as she yawned and stretched out her arms. Alistair stood up and walked around the table and took a seat on the bed. He pushed his palms down on the mattresses measuring its softness. Ilyana came over to him. She was slightly puzzled, typically at the end of their game nights they said their goodnights and went their separate ways. They maintained their distance out of respect that he was still married even though he and Blythe made it very clear to each other their relationship was finished. 

 

“You know,” he said. He looked up at her with pleading hazel eyes. She hung onto every word he said, feeling the tension of anticipation shortened her breathes and quickened her heart. “This isn’t a very comfortable bed.” He rolled his eyes. “I’m king of an entire nation and I still don’t know how to ask you this,” he said exhaling an exasperated huff. She saw his brows knit together in seriousness before softening. Holding both her hands, he pulled her to him, brushing her lips with his. She felt his ambitious mouth parting her soft lips searching, pressing, reaching for more of her. He laid back onto the bed bringing her down on top of him as they kissed. She felt the faint jitters of nerves being drowned out by the unyielding compulsion to be ever closer to him. 


	15. The Last Long Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ilyana prepares, friends gather and Alistair and Blythe sort out their separate future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge, gigantic, heart felt thank you goes to Zinjadu for being a tireless editor, beta and friend. She sculpted the voice of Zevran and Morrigan perfectly in this chapter. It has been truly wonderful sharing this journey with her. 
> 
> She’s the writer of the incredible story of [**The Long Way Home**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14613042). Please do yourself a favor and give her series a read.
> 
> Also, I would like to thank all of you for reading and following this story every week. It’s been an honor. Without further ado, the finale to A Hero’s Path.

 

 

Divine Victoria, formerly known as Cassandra Allegra Portia Calogera Filomena Pentaghast, sat across from her longtime friend, Leliana, in the early dawn light. They drank tea and ate from the ornate fruit and pastry arrangement brought to their quarters in the castle. Their rooms overlooked the gardens, a riot of colors blooming in the late spring. Cassandra’s short black hair stuck out at all angles, and her brows were low and her mouth puckered to one side in annoyance. Leliana’s red cropped coif was smooth and straight, as she stared out the window with a hopeful smile.

 

“Oh, Cassandra, it’s so wonderful that we’re here. I couldn’t think of a better reason to spend some time away from Val Royeaux, maybe relax a little?” Leliana’s chipper voice lilted and was bright.

 

“I’d prefer if it were a reason to wear a sword and some armor,” Cassandra said as she glanced down at her well loved copy of the third installment of Swords and Shields. “I suppose it will have to do.”

 

“Knowing this crowd, I wouldn’t be surprised if the opportunity presents itself.” Leliana giggled as she sipped her tea.

 

“For the record, Leliana, I am still not sure how I let you and Varric talk me into all of this.” Cassandra brought her now lukewarm tea to her lips taking a few gulps and finishing her cup.

 

“From what I recall, you didn’t require much convincing, especially after reading that book of yours a few hundred times,” Leliana teased.

 

“It’s a work of art. Varric made a clever choice to have handed the reigns to his protege…”

 

***

 

_ The day had been a long and arduous one, and Cassandra was hardly in the mood to preside over anymore ceremonial nonsense, especially after the commotion of the Exalted Council only weeks previous. She sat in the Grand Hall wishing the day was over and she could could have a bath drawn and more some alone time to read.  _

 

_ “Your Grace, the Prince of Starkhaven and the Viscount of Kirkwall request an audience,” one of the clerics announced. Cassandra rolled her eyes as she watched Varric Tethrys and Sebastian Vael approach her throne wondering what could that dwarf want from her now. _

 

_ “Your Holiness, thank you for gracing us humble folk for your time.” Varric’s voice was coated in sarcasm. Sebastian dropped to a knee and bowed his head. _

 

_ “Most Holy, you have my most humble thanks for granting this audience on such short notice. I beg your indulgence to make a personal request of you, as I know of no other course of action,” Sebastian said formally, while he gazed at the floor.  _

 

_ “Please rise, Prince Vael. Varric, please explain what you two want.” She wrinkled her nose and a snort escaped her, knowing she was going to regret this, whatever it was. Varric cleared his throat. _

 

_ “Keep this in mind, I’m asking you this as a personal favor,” Varric said standing as tall as a dwarf could, and they approached the sunburst throne. “You see, our young Prince Vael, here is in love.” _

 

_ “Congratulations on affairs of the heart, Prince Vael, however I don’t understand why this’s any of-” _

 

_ “She-” Sebastian interrupted. “She is married, to the King of Ferelden.” He dipped his head in shame, a vain attempt to hide his cheeks as they grew increasingly flushed. _

 

_ “Does she know?” Cassandra asked plainly.  _

 

_ “Yes, she knows, Cass-- Your Grace, and King Alistair also knows,” Varric said, and then paused for a moment.  No doubt for dramatic effect. “Here’s the deal, The King and Queen of Ferelden would like you to dissolve their marriage so that they may separate amicably and my friend Choir Boy, here, has the intention marry the lovely lady in question..”Cassandra sat back in her throne biting the inside of her lower lip as she thought.  _

 

_ “Why would Alistair want this? A divorce from a worthy queen who’s well loved by the people and a devout woman.” Cassandra asked. _

 

_ “Isn’t it obvious?” Leliana’s voice came from the far corridor. Her steps echoed off the vaulted ceilings as she approached. “The Hero of Ferelden has returned, has she not? You didn’t know them the way I did. I travelled and fought alongside them during the Blight, this doesn’t surprise me in the slightest.” _

 

_ “Thank you for your insight, Sister Nightingale.” Cassandra sighed. Leliana approached the throne standing beside it. “It’s a story not unlike the newest installment of yours, Varric.” _

 

_ “Whoa, hey now. That was just a book, and we all know our buddy Jim penned that one. Romantic Bastard.” _

 

_ “Varric! Language,” Sebastian scolded the dwarf. _

 

_ “I know, we’re in a holy place. Sorry, Choir Boy. Cass, Nightingale and I go back a ways. So, Divine Victoria, would you do that whole making thing right that only you can do? I need to get back to Kirkwall,” Varric rambled. _

 

_ “Fine. Remember this, the next time I need a favor, like the location of a Champion,” Cassandra said as her eyes narrowed at Varric. “Or a Hero.”  Her voice was has hard as iron and sharp as the edge of a blade. Her gaze went from Leliana to Sebastian and finally returned to Varric. _

 

_ “Dwarf’s honor, your Holiness.” Varric placed a fist across his heart. _

 

***

 

Alistair stared at the five doublets laid out before him on the bed, each with their own matching breeches. He stood without his shirt on, and his plain cotton breeches. The other twenty possibilities lay about the room in disarray for being too fancy, not fancy enough and ones that reminded him of the brief time he had not been so fit. He pushed his bottom lip out in a grimacing frown. 

 

“Dad?” Duncan asked as he entered without knocking. “You’re not even remotely dressed, yet. What’s wrong?” 

 

“I can’t decide which one, I mean, this’s a very important day, someday you’ll have this day too and you better hope you planned ahead. I feel like I’m going crazy. It wasn’t this hard the first time around,” Alistair whined as he reached for the red tunic with gold embroidery, but was pulled up short by Duncan’s grimace. 

 

“Really, Dad? You’re in red all the time, you keep talking about how today is special. Why don’t you choose this one?”  Duncan walked across the room for a light gold raw silk tunic with red trim. “That way you’re still wearing your kingdom’s colors, pair it with the red quilted doublet and the black breeches and you’re on top of the world!” 

 

“When did you get so good at everything, young man?” Alistair asked smiling at his son. He crossed the room to grab the tunic and doublet his son recommended.

 

“Thanks, Dad,” Duncan said a wide goofy smile spread across his face. 

 

“Go see if you sister needs help.” Without further prompting, Duncan skipped out of the royal suite leaving Alistair by himself.  Then Duncan suddenly popped his head back in.

 

“Oh, Dad! Great Uncle Teagan is wants to talk to you!” Duncan relayed before quickly disappearing. Alistair groaned. He continued to get dressed as his mind returned to the last time he saw his uncle and the heated conversation they had.

 

***

 

_ It was the beginning of spring, the fire crackled wet wood in the furnace across the room. In his study, Alistair stood tall with his arms crossed across his broad chest in defiance while Arl Teagan angrily paced in front of the desk, scroll in hand.  _

 

_ “You can’t be serious! Alistair, nothing has changed in thirteen years. What was a problem then, is still a problem today!” Teagan erupted at Alistair, throwing his arms in the air.  _

 

_ “Except now, I am King, and I have been King, quite successfully I might add, for thirteen years,” Alistair retorted. He knew Teagan’s mood was fueled by the results from the Exalted Council where everything had gone pear-shaped on everyone.  _

 

_ “That isn’t going to change how people see the issue,” Teagan pleaded. He slammed his palms on the table. “Wait until your wife passes on like your father did. Just keep it quiet for everyone’s sake.” _

 

_ “I don’t care how they feel about the issue. I’m King, it’s my choice, my order. If they feel like I’m unsuitable for the crown suddenly they can say so to me directly, or try to slander the  _ Hero of Ferelden _ to a grateful populace.  I wish any dissenting bann luck in the attempt, because I cannot see it going well for them.  It’s time we all grew up a little, damn it!” Alistair threw his hands up in the air in exasperation. He knew there wasn’t any way around this conversation.   It was a repeat of what Eamon had told him years ago, when he hadn’t been ready for it, but this time he held his ground.  _

 

_ *** _

  
  


Dressed and ready with his finest crown upon his head, Alistair went in search of his uncle. He found Teagan laughing in the garden with none other than Leliana. They all greeted each other with warm hugs and wide smiles which was in stark contrast since the last time Teagan and Alistair spoke. He found himself surprised at Teagan’s warm smile and genial demeanor.

 

“Your uncle and I were reminiscing about the last time we were all here together. We didn’t get to speak a the Council, since we were both too busy working,” Leliana said smiling. Her red hair shone brightly in the midday sun. She wore a dress uniform since she was there in attendance officially as the Left Hand of the Divine. 

 

“You look wonderful, Alistair. Your father and Eamon would be proud, I’m proud,” Teagan said warmly, placing a hand on Alistair’s arm.  Then he ducked his head respectfully and made to leave. “Now if you excuse me.”

 

“You really do look quite dashing, Alistair. You’ve clearly returned to training since I saw you last at Redcliffe years ago.” Leliana grinned. “Is Zevran coming? Is Morrigan here? After the Exalted Council, I would not be upset if Sten declined to put in an appearance.” 

 

“I, I honestly don’t know anything. Morrigan’s with Ilyana, and if Zevran is here he’s probably working. Oh, and please do your sneaky spy thing and don’t let me die today,” Alistair begged, making Leliana erupt in laughter. 

 

“I think you’ll be fine, Alistair. Come, have you had any lunch yet?” Leliana asked. She placed a hand on his back ushering the Ferelden King to the nearby table with a spread of cut fruit, vegetables, cheese, cured meats and bread. They sat across from each other. Alistair could feel the rumbles of his empty stomach and decided cheese would soothe his wedding nerves.

 

“So, what will happen with the children?” Leliana asked as she pulled a slice of bread apart and dipped it into a soft cheese spread. Alistair sighed and took a drink of some tea to wash down his food.

 

“Well, it’s a plan we all came up with together. I think it makes everyone as happy as possible,” he said.  Leliana’s arched eyebrow prompted him to continue, and since he had nothing to do now but wait, the story came out of him in a nerve-defraying rush.

  
  


***

  
  


_ Alistair sat at his favorite small wooden table in the library, the bright morning light illuminated the room in a soft warm glow, and he gazed out the adjacent window down at the garden. His head was thick from too much wine the night before, still needing to learn how change the portion sizes of everything since being cured of the Taint. Blythe entered the library quietly, her mouth straight with seriousness. With only a nod by way of greeting, she sat down across from Alistair. She wore a somber dark green gown and her golden ringlets were pulled back into a bun. Alistair turned his gaze to his now ex-wife.  Prince Vael had arrived only yesterday, the granted petition of divorce in hand, and now it was time to work out the much more difficult details about how to go forward. _

 

_ “Morning, Alistair,” Blythe said curtly.  _

 

_ “Morning, Blythe.” He sighed; he had been dreading this conversation for a week. Still, he was king, and he straightened his spine.  “Congratulations on your engagement. Are you looking forward to spending time closer to home?”  _

 

_ “Thank you.” A soft smile spread across her pink stained lips. “Yes, I’m going to enjoy the warmer weather for one. Could we take the children with us to Val Royeaux for the month of the wedding?”Blythe asked. Alistair leaned back in his seat, his eyebrows raised in subtle surprise. _

 

_ “I don’t see why not? Why don’t you ask them?” Alistair grinned. _

 

_ “Duncan and Chaska! Are you listening?” Blythe’s inquiry was more accusation than a question. Duncan and Chaska stepped out from behind a bookcase, their heads bowed in shame. Duncan was now a full head taller than Chaska despite being two years younger..  _

 

_ “Mom, we want to go with you to Val Royeaux,” Duncan said apologetically while Chaska nodded in agreement. _

 

_ “I think you two will have a great time in Val Royeaux. Not to mention Chaska will get to meet the world’s most famous Seeker, Divine Victoria,” Blythe said as her own excitement crept into her voice. Seeing Blythe’s happiness soothed Alistair’s heart. Though they were no longer married or in love, he genuinely wanted her to be happy and well. _

 

_ “And we’re going to be spending the summers with you in Starkhaven, right?” Duncan asked giving his parents big hazel puppy dog eyes. _

 

_ “Of course!” Blythe replied. She rose to her feet and embraced both Duncan and Chaska. “You two will always be my children, my home will always be your home.” She kissed the tops of both of their heads. _

 

_ “Besides, if Duncan goes, I have to go. My brother can’t go without me, it’s like, against the law or something,” Chaska insisted, her arms around Blythe and her brother.  As if he had been waiting for an opportune moment, Sebastian poked his head into the library, a smile flitting across his serious face to witness Blythe holding her children.  _

 

_ “My love, would you excuse Alistair and I moment?” Sebastian asked.  _

 

_ “Of course, my dear.” Blythe ushered the children out of the library, and Alistair overheard them discussing what snack they might find in the kitchens at this time of day. Sebastian approached the table where Blythe had previously been sitting. Alistair nodded in acknowledgement to Sebastian while Sebastian bent at the waist in a bow before taking a seat across from the Ferelden king. _

 

_ “So.” Sebastian folded his arms around across his chest.  _

 

_ “So.” Alistair responded in kind, watching the Starkhaven Prince closely with his hazel eyes narrowed and focused. “Is there something you wish to discuss, Prince Vael?” _

 

_ “Does it bother you that the children will be spending time in Starkhaven?” Sebastian asked. _

 

_ “No, not at all. I will miss them, yes, but I miss them if I’ve been busy all day and hardly see them. All I ask is that when the children are with you, treat them as if they are your own. They’re good children and we both love them dearly,” Alistair said, his tone became more somber as he spoke. He rose to his feet to take his leave. Sebastian handed Alistair a sealed scroll. _

 

_ “Here you go, Your Majesty, your divorce from Blythe is final and recognized by the Chantry,” Sebastian said as he stood. _

 

_ “Thank you.” Alistair offered a smile as he took the scroll from Sebastian. “Just… love her. She deserves that.”Alistair watched Sebastian’s brows shoot up his forehead in surprise before smiling at the Ferelden King. _

 

_ “Thank you, Your Majesty, I shall. With every breath,” Sebastian replied.  _

 

_ *** _

  
  


“And that’s the gist of it. Until the children are adults they will be spending summers in Starkhaven and the rest of the year are here with us. You’re not just asking for asking, though.   You’re doing that… Lady Nightingale thing, aren’t you?” Alistair frowned while Leliana broke into laughter.

 

“Not at all. Can’t old friends just talk sometimes?” she asked, placing a hand on her chest, feigning offense. 

 

“I suppose. Just when one of the two friends is the Left Hand of the Divine, it makes you wonder,” he said and patted Leliana on the back. 

 

“I’m going to go find Ilyana,” she said looking up the hanging vines on lattices offering shade from the midday sun.

 

“Oh, good, can I come with you? Please?” he asked plaintively.

 

“I don’t think so, Your Highness. You’ll see her later, promise,” she snickered.

 

“I haven’t seen her since yesterday, this is torture.” Alistair folded his arms across his chest in disapproval. He hadn’t seen Ilyana since yesterday, and since they decided they were going to be together it was the longest they’d been apart. Knowing she was within the castle gnawed at him and only made the butterflies in his belly worse. 

 

“Be patient, your Majesty. Time will do the one thing it can do, tick forward.” Leliana turned back to Alistair as she began to walk away. “Although, I will certainly relate your distress to her when I see her.” 

 

“Ugh! Why is everyone being mean to me. Today, of all days to be so mean. I’ll remember this.” He groaned.

 

She giggled as she made her exit.

 

***

 

In the north tower Ilyana sat in her old worn pajamas drinking tea and eating lunch by herself. Absently swirling the tea in her cup, she recalled how this time in the previous year she was in Kirkwall preparing for a grand seafaring adventure. She smirked at herself, she was so ready and confident for any adventure or conflict she found herself in compared the nerves she was battling. Her leg jittered under the table as she reminded herself that today was no different any other day in her life, the sun rose, and it will set. It was just a another day. 

 

***

 

_ Ilyana kept to the north tower since Blythe’s return while they all awaited Sebastian’s arrival. The whole castle was buzzed with activity once the Prince of Starkhaven arrived. Servants hustled packing Blythe’s belongings in preparation for shipment.  _

 

_ It was impossible to remain completely distant from the entire affair, and one afternoon Ilyana happened upon Blythe sitting alone in the garden. The women greeted each other with polite smiles and nods. Ilyana turned away to give Blythe space. _

 

_ “Come, sit with me?” Blythe asked softly as Ilyana turned to leave. Ilyana spun on her heels and took a seat with Blythe on the stone bench. The same one Chaska spent most of the warm days reading. Her palms were sweaty, she rubbed them on her breeches, feeling creeping panic unsure of what to do. Every time she saw Blythe, now, she felt shame and fear.  _

 

_ “Let me start,” Ilyana insisted.  She knew the only way forward was to be as honest and clear as possible. “I’m sorry how everything happened. I didn’t plan it, or expect any of this. I hope you know I just came here to save my friend’s life.” Words rapidly fell from Ilyana’s mouth in nervousness. Her stomach was tying itself into an ever tighter knot. She felt guilty. it wasn’t her fault, it wasn’t really anyone’s fault, but guilt gnawed at her all the same.  _

 

_ “I know, I believe you,” Blythe said, smiling. Ilyana could see her relax as visible relief washed across her. “I’ve… always known Alistair loved you. I didn’t know at first, I was young and naive, but then I met you a few months after our wedding. I saw the way he looked at you, and I heard the way you two fought in his office, repeatedly. He never showed me that amount of passion, and it hurt. I was queen of an entire nation and I knew I was the second choice.” Ilyana placed a hand on her shoulder in comfort.  _

 

_ “It didn’t matter, it wasn’t possible for me to be his choice at all.” Ilyana smiled sadly. She remembered the early days of Alistair’s reign, hiding her pregnancy and feelings. They were lonely times for everyone in the castle. _

 

_ “Obviously, that’s not true. Not anymore, anyway. I can’t imagine how alone you must’ve felt, through the whole thing. Despite everything going in a direction I never anticipated, I’m thankful for it all. The Maker works in mysterious ways.” Blythe smiled at Ilyana. _

 

_ “I’m thankful for everything too,” she replied feeling hopeful. “Whatever comes, it’s good to be alive and still have life surprise you.” _

 

_ *** _

 

There was a gentle knock on the door to Ilyana’s room. She shook her head, snapping out of her memories and returned to the present.

 

“Come in!” she called out. The door swung open and Morrigan and Leliana entered carrying a gigantic bundle of ivory fabric and a small chest. Leliana set the dress out on the red velvet couch in the corner, and Morrigan set the chest on the table.

 

“Well, young lady, I do believe it’s time to start preparing for the evening. There’s much to do, and have you even bathed yet?” Leliana asked. The bard’s eyes narrowed inspecting Ilyana’s face for perfection.

 

“Yes, yes I did.”  Ilyana puffed out an offended breath.  Then Leliana peered at her from underneath skeptical brows, and Ilyana sighed.  “Hours ago, but that’s not long, is it?” 

 

“Still yourselves. Here, in this chest is some of the finest oils and powders gifted from Ambassador Monteliyet of the Inquisition. When she heard the news, she was, beside herself and insisted I gift them to you for this day. She would’ve had you, Leliana, deliver the gifts but due to spending most of your time in Val Royeaux in the last year the obligation to bring them fell to me,” Morrigan said opening the small chest. 

 

“I can’t believe how many people are here already! This may rival Celene’s galas,” Leliana mused.

 

“Wait, no one told me there were going to be lots of people.” Ilyana’s eyes widened as a look of horror washed across her face. A wave of panic crashed through her; butterflies ran riot in her stomach as she thought of having to stand up in front of so many people

 

“Oh yes! The streets are already lined with people. It’s going to be quite the event. After all, it is not every day that a hero gets--” Morrigan smirked feigning a detached air while watching Ilyana become increasingly distressed.

 

“Oh no! I can’t do this. I’m going to turn into a mouse. A mouse! I think I’m going to hide for the next hundred years. Maybe I should see Alistair before it all starts,” Ilyana rambled.  She paced the length of the tower, trying to look at everything  _ but _ the white dress draped accusingly on the couch.   

 

“Do not be absurd,” Morrigan interrupted. “You will cease your pointless nattering and calm yourself so Leliana can attempt to make sense of that mane of yours. Then it is into the gown with you, my friend.  T’will require both of us to ensure you are well dressed, I believe.” 

 

“Both of you?” Ilyana’s eyebrows knit together in confusion.

 

“Oh yes!” Leliana breathed, her excitement at the romance of it all shining in her blue eyes. “First there will be the undergarments, and the corset of course! Then we must arrange the petticoats just so, and then, oooh! The best part, and my favorite, the gown itself! Which leaves the bodice and then we will be done. It should only require an hour to see you properly dressed.” 

 

“Oh no. No no. Why couldn’t you find some nice shiny armor, or a pretty circle robe?” Ilyana groused.  Leliana laughed and Morrigan grinned with amusement at all the antics. Leliana made quick business about brushing out Ilyana’s long raven hair.

 

“Thank you both for being here, today. I truly appreciate it. I’m actually surprised how amicable you two are being to each other,” Ilyana said smiling sadly. She knew their time together was limited. 

 

“Morrigan did great good to help the Inquisition. It was an honor to have her aid.” Leliana replied.

 

“You did the dragon thing, didn’t you?” Ilyana snickered, knowing first hand how powerful of an ally Morrigan was against the most dangerous opponents.

 

“I haven’t the faintest idea of which you speak,” Morrigan said grinning.

 

The door slammed open and Zevran dashed into the room, quickly shutting the door behind him.  

 

“I knew this was the place to find Thedas’s most beautiful and deadly women!” he exclaimed with a grin. He was dressed in formal breeches and a white open chest tunic with a brocade vest.

 

“Also, I’m entirely disappointed all three of you are clothed. Should I make my entrance again?” he asked gesturing to the door behind him. 

 

“Zevran!” Ilyana cried. She jumped up from the stool Leliana had her sitting on and rushed across the room, wrapping her arms around Zevran tightly. Morrigan sighed rolling her eyes in the corner while Leliana attempted to muffle her laugh. 

 

“My favorite mark!” Zevran held Ilyana tightly, pressing  a friendly kiss to her cheek. “It’s so good to see you, my dear!” He released her and took her by the shoulders for a moment to study his former companion and friend. “Don’t they feed you in this castle? And, you’re hardly dressed, though I doubt that is for my benefit, alas. Don’t you need to be ready soon?” 

 

“Indeed.  We are attempting to ensure she will be, however, it seems our once intrepid leader has has become  _ shy _ ,” Morrigan drawled.  She started unfolding the ivory silk gown and the slips and under layers that gave the skirt volume in Orlesian style but with a shorter corset and longer sleeves.

 

“Hm, a lovely dress.  Even better, my dear, you could hide ever so many daggers in it,” Zevran remarked.  

 

“She does not require daggers, Zevran.”  Morrigan’s tone was barbed, though without the bite of twelve years prior.  

 

“Ah, but that is where you’re mistaken, Morrigan. Every lady knows daggers are always appropriate.” He crossed his arms defiantly.

 

"Zevran does have a point, Morrigan." Ilyana beamed at her friends, putting on air of innocence. If she was going to be put through a full court appearance, at least she could tweak their noses along the way.

 

“Don’t move! I’m almost done!” Leliana ordered. Deftly, Leliana began to coil the ribbon-woven braid around the crown of Ilyana’s head.  She could not be queen, but it seemed her old friend was determined she have a crown of some sort. “All right, Zevran, it’s time for you to go see Alistair, or whoever.” 

 

“Ah, very well,” Zevran sighed with a little pout. “I know when I’m not wanted.”  Zevran walked to the door with his usual irrepressible saunter. 

 

“Zev you’re a shit thief, please don’t steal anything.”  Ilyana grinned at her old friend, a fond warning in her tone.

 

“Why would I steal from my friends?” Zevran asked archly.  Then he sketched a mocking little bow before sweeping out of the room, letting the door shut with a soft  _ click _ behind him.  Leliana turned to Ilyana after finishing her hair.

 

“Now, it is past time you were dressed properly.” 

 

***

 

The procession through Denerim from the castle to the Chantry was lined with crowds of cheering people following the carriages through the streets. Commander Harion offered his hand to Ilyana as she stepped out of her carriage, and then walked to Alistair, already at the base of the steps leading up into the imposing building. Seeing her approach a wide crooked grin spread across his face and straightened his spine. He extended his arm to take Ilyana’s hand in his own. Her face was obscured by the long lace veil, and she was thankful for it so no one could see her face on fire for all her blushing. Holding his hand, she fought the desire to take him and run. After growing up in the Circle, where marriage was something that wasn’t possible, she felt a smidge of disbelief that everything was not just some elaborate illusion. Her heart felt like it was going to beat from her chest fueled by little panicked breaths. 

 

“Hi,” he whispered. Hearing his husky voice brought her immediately back to the present. He was the air of her breath, she was calm, she was ready. She could see his warm hazel eyes soften and smile pull up on the right side. He held her hand tightly, and secure she knew he felt the same. 

 

“Hi,” she whispered in response. Together they ascended the stairs to the Chantry which greeted them with open doors. The invited guests rose to their feet as the couple walked down the aisle to where Divine Victoria herself stood at the altar waiting for them. When they reached the end, the guests returned to their seats. 

 

“Shall we begin?” Divine Victoria glanced at Alistair and Ilyana. “It is a great honor to be here today, to celebrate the union of these two outstanding examples of the Maker’s love. First we have King Alistair Theirin, son of King Maric, who served his kingdom during the Blight and then turned his attentions to rebuilding and defending his nation with not only his sword, but with his decrees and good works. His love of his kingdom is only second to his love of Ilyana Surana. A woman born to the Alienage of this very city, a woman who became a mage of the Circle, but is, in truth, so much more.  You know her as the Hero of Ferelden, whose strength and diplomacy are the reasons we stand here today. Yet, neither were these two souls alone in their deeds. They stand before me, before all of us, old friends who have found a way back to each other, and its their devotion to each other, across the years and across all obstacles that bring us here today. A devotion that can only remind us of Andraste’s devotion to the Maker. Are there any present with us who protest this union?” 

 

A hushed silence blanketed the Chantry, and Ilyana raised her eyes to Alistair’s face.  Still hidden by her viel, he could not see her, yet he turned to her all the same. She felt the creeping worry that someone would dissent, that someone would cry out against this, a day she thought would never happen. As if he knew her thoughts, Alistair gave her a fractional shake of his head and mouthed  _ don’t worry _ .  

 

One of the Chantry brothers stepped into the center aisle and cried, “Die elven scum!” He threw a dagger that just missed the train of Ilyana’s dress. An arrow went through his neck,and he crumpled to the ground. Twenty more supposed Chantry brothers readied weapons surrounding the congregation. Alistair pulled Ilyana behind him in an attempt to guard her. Without a moment’s hesitation she summoned energy from the Fade and cast a barrier around Alistair and herself. 

 

“We have you surrounded! The noble Bann Ceorlic will not see the throne tainted by filthy elven blood!” one of the brothers cried as aimed a bow at Alistair. 

 

Leliana and Morrigan emerged from opposite sides of the pews with their weapons at the ready. A loud clatter rang through the Chantry as the apparent leader dropped his weapon.

 

"My friend, can I call you friend? I feel as though we are very close just now," Zevran said, his words carrying through the whole hall though he spoke barely above a whisper. He held his dagger, wicked sharp and with a sheen of poison, to the throat of the mercenary captain. "As a friend, I can tell you have made a most grievous mistake. I wonder, would you like it to be a fatal one as well?"

 

“I wouldn’t move,” Leliana cautioned. Following suit, ten of Leliana’s Inquisition spies emerged from the shadows with bows aimed at the Bann Ceorlic’s mercenaries. The royal guard drew their swords, as well as Commander Harion. The mercenary with his bow drawn suddenly gurgled and crumpled as he fell to the floor. Zevran stepped out from behind the dead mercenary.

 

“I’m terribly sorry, I just can’t take it when people are rude,” Zevran quipped and winked at Alistair. The mercenaries all dropped their weapons and were escorted out the Chantry by Commander Harion and Leliana. 

 

“I presume, then, that there are no further objections?” Divine Victoria asked in a tone that suggested if there were, then she would be more than happy to get a sword and sort them out herself.  When no one spoke, a grimly pleased smile broke out on her face. “A wise decision. Now, let us continue.”

 

***

 

The reception was a gigantic success, everyone drank, dined and toasted the royal couple. The grand ballroom was decorated in red roses and an impressive ensemble of musicians played throughout  the evening. When it was finally time for the couple’s first dance, Alistair, who had not leave his wife’s side since the ceremony, gently took Ilyana’s hand and lead her to the dance floor.

 

“My dearest and most beloved wife, would you do me the honor of sharing a dance with me?” Alistair asked, his voice soft and face beamed with joyous smile.

 

“Of course, my wonderful husband,” Ilyana replied, her cheeks ached from smiling so much all day. Alistair placed a hand on the small of her back and she placed her hand on his shoulder and they began their first dance.

 

“I’m sorry about earlier,” Ilyana apologised paying no attention to the room full of people. Instead, focusing on Alistair’s adoring and tender eyes, she felt like the luckiest woman in Thedas. 

 

“Don’t be. I expected as much from at least one of the Banns. I know it will never been a boring life by your side, and that’s quite all right with me,” he said grinning. They danced the traditional slow waltz.

 

“I swear to protect and love you with every breath I breathe for all of my days, Ilyana Theirin.” He leaned down and gently pressed his lips to Ilyana’s. “I can’t believe I’m so lucky to have you as my wife, through everything we’ve overcome, we made it. I dreamed of this day since I knew I loved you.”

 

“I… never thought today would come,” Ilyana confessed. “But that doesnt mean I didn’t dream that it would.” 

 

“How about after this dance, we excuse ourselves from the festivities?” Alistair asked in a low whisper.

 

“Oh, Maker, please. Though, I have no idea how to get out of this dress,” Ilyana snickered. Alistair raised an eyebrow and grinned.

 

"I'm sure I can manage," Alistair said with a quiet chuckle. As the music drifted to an end, he gazed at her for a long moment, and Ilyana saw his smile slowly release into a half grin and eyes focused. She could see he was ready to get away from the excitement of the party. 

 

“I’ll be right back,” he said before kissing her cheek and crossing the dancefloor to Leliana who was in the far corner. 

 

He quickly returned and Leliana went to speak with the musicians who broke into a loud and lively piece. Alistair had the look of mischief on his face with low brows and a wide grin. Without a word he took Ilyana’s hand and they were able to duck past the guests heading to the dance floor and escape through the kitchen. They were giddy running through the maze of the castle, laughing the whole way to the royal apartments. Before they entered, Alistair barred Ilyana from going further.

 

“Wait!” he exclaimed. His arm blocked the doorway.

 

“For what?” she asked, perplexed.

 

“For this.” He leaned down and scooped Ilyana into his arms. “Now, we can enter,” he said as he carried her into their suite.

 

***

 

Wrapped in a white sheet, they stood looking out the window.  Alistair draped his arms across her chest, and she leaned against him, secure in his embrace. Her long raven hair had fallen out of the elaborate updo Leliana created. He traced a finger along the line of her neck, and she sighed as her head and shoulders relaxed further for him to press his lips against her skin.  The night was clear with a thin waxing moon, the stars glittering above. 

 

“So, what do you want to do tomorrow?” Alistair asked, squeezing her tightly.

 

“How about we play it by ear? Sleep in, maybe go for a long walk. Or maybe go nowhere at all?” Ilyana shrugged and turned around and stood on tiptoes to give him a kiss.

 

“It sounds like a plan to me. Hey… I noticed you didn’t have hardly any wine all evening. Did it not fit your  _ sophisticated  _ palate?” He snickered poking her playfully in her mid section. She squirmed and giggled in response.

 

“About that, Alistair,” she began, she paused bit her bottom lip before continuing. “We need to talk.”

 

“About?” Alistair drew out the word  with a sing-songy lilt in his voice. Instead of explaining, she took his hand and placed it on her belly. His brows knit in momentary confusion, but then his eyes widened in surprise as his lips stretched in a delighted, exuberant grin.  With an excited whoop, he scooped her up into his arms, wrapping her in the sheet and showered her in cascades of kisses. 

 

She didn’t know what the future held, but she knew she wouldn’t have to face it alone again.

 

***

 

_ “You know, one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together,” the man drawled, as he turned to Ilyana.   The mage stormed off to speak with the Reverend Mother, but clearly this human didn’t care about that. “It’s like a party! We could all stand in a circle and hold hands! That would give the darkspawn something to think about. Wait, we haven’t met have we? I don’t suppose you happen to be another mage?”  _

 

_ “I am, indeed a mage,” Ilyana replied, her cheeks reddening for a fraction of a second. She grinned, and in that moment she decided that she was going to befriend her fellow Warden. She appreciated his humor especially after the week-long hike to Ostagar from the Circle. _

 

_ “Really? You don’t look like a mage,” he said, his eyebrows jumped in surprise. “Uh, that is, I mean, how interesting. Wait! I do know who you are, you’re Duncan’s new recruit from Kinloch Hold. I should’ve recognized you right away, I apologise. Let me introduce myself I’m Alistair, the new Grey Warden, I guess you knew that.” _

 

_ “My name is Ilyana Surana, I look forward to travelling with you.” She said with a hopeful smile. She didn’t know much about being a Grey Warden, but she did know she was happy to be free of the Circle and maybe already made a friend.  _

 

And that’s all I know, but you don’t have to take this  _ dwarf’s  _ word for it.

_ The End _

  
  
  
  



End file.
